


The Dark of the Southside

by wordgirl80



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2018-11-17 03:57:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 58,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11267463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordgirl80/pseuds/wordgirl80
Summary: Part two of my first fanfic, but can be read alone. Betty finds that her darkness is taking over as Juggie deals with the repercussions of joining the Serpents. But a little Riverdale Civil War isn't enough to break up our dynamic duo. When they discover who really shot Fred, they expose the true underbelly of Riverdale's dark side and work to save their loved ones. Also lots of Bughead sex. And sorry I've been MIA. I'm back, bitches!





	1. The Heart of Darkness

The darkness had been closing in on her ever since Homecoming, like a noose hanging around her neck, getting tighter and tighter, heavier, slowly cutting off her air. The oddest part of it was that nothing had triggered it. There was no reason for her to feel the way she did. Yes, Jughead had transferred high schools to the Southside, but he'd left the Serpents jacket in the closet. But what if Jughead did join the Serpents? What would happen to them then? Betty already knew. If Jughead Jones was the king of the Southside Serpents, then she would be their queen. She'd follow Jughead anywhere. They were solid. Nothing could tear them apart. So why wasn't she happy?

For the last twenty-four hours, Riverdale had been quiet. Jason Blossom's murderer had been brought to justice, she and Jughead were in good place, and FP had been cleared of all murder charges. Yes, Fred had been shot and was in the hospital, but Sheriff Keller had apprehended the shooter, locked him away. The criminal was a transient with a long rap sheet of violent crimes. It was a robbery gone awry, wrong place at the wrong time, an open and shut case. After a blood transfusion, and a touch and go surgery, Fred had been moved out of the ICU and into a regular hospital room. He'd be in the hospital for a while, but he was going to pull through. There was nothing to worry about.

And Betty should be overjoyed that her family was back together. Wasn't that what she'd wanted all along? But now her home seemed more like a theatrical stage, everyone saying the lines they'd been assigned, moving the way the choreography dictated. None of it was real. She'd rather have pain, rather them fight, rather Polly say out loud how creepy it was to be carrying twins conceived by her dead Coopers were experts at playing make believe, but pretending to be perfect came with a price. For her it was draining to keep that perky, fake smile always plastered on her face and to ignore the breaches in the Cooper's foundation.

The rest of the Coopers were happy in their fantasy land, but not Betty. Every night at the dinner table, she'd ball her hands into fists, jabbing her rounded nails into her palms until they pierced through her flesh. It was the only time her skin didn't feel too small for her body, her chest didn't feel too tight to breathe, and her heart wasn't too weak to pump an adequate amount of blood through her system. For a moment, the self-inflicted pain made her feel less crazy. Almost normal.

That little nick of pains wasn't enough anymore, and that was why she was sitting alone in the abandoned projection room at the torn down drive-in, shivering in the rain, alone, phone turned off, silent just like she'd been for the last twelve hours. She came here before dawn after a restless night of sleep. Tucked into the safety of her house at 6th and Elm, she'd jolted awake every time she'd closed her eyes, heart beating in her throat, terrified of . . . something. She didn't know, didn't understand. She couldn't put it into words.

Last night in her bed, she tried focusing on the glowing cupid nightlight that Polly had given to her when she used to have these nightmares as a child-panic attacks really, though she didn't know what to call them then. But staring at the light, willing it to fill the room with brightness, only reminded her that sometimes the darkness doesn't end. So she pulled the pink quilt over her head, and whispered a mantra to herself, "You are Elizabeth Cooper, first in your class at Riverdale High, editor in chief of The Blue and Gold, a River Vixen, girlfriend of Jughead Jones, and a goddamned gift to anyone you meet. You are not crazy. You are not your sister. You are not your mother. You are smart, you are brave, and you are stronger than all the white noise."

It was similar to what Jughead had said to her a few weeks ago when she had started to fall apart after her parents split up. If he believed it, believed in her, she needed to believe it too.

But it hadn't worked last night or the night before. The only time she'd slept in the last week had been with Jughead in FP's trailer. And a person wasn't built to live off of so little sleep. She remembered reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar this summer. Plath had slowly lost her mind and it all started with a long bout of insomnia. While Sylvia wasn't sleeping, madness slipped into the cracks of her psyche. Was that what this was? The beginning of Betty's own undoing. She'd always been able to control it, the slithering, consuming darkness that lay beneath the sunshine she radiated to the world. But not lately. In the past, when she'd curl her fingers inward, nails biting the fleshy surface of her palms, that lurch of pain had been enough to ground her, bring her senses back into check. But not this time. It hadn't been enough. What if the darkness stayed forever this time?

She flexed her hand, causing the newly formed scabs on her palms to pop. She shifted slightly on the stool where she had been perched for hours, and she felt the new wounds on her right thigh stretch, start to bleed again. The fresh blood was the only warmth in the freezing mist filtering through the broken windows of the projection room. But she had hardly noticed the cold. She'd hardly felt anything. But the cut on her leg was different. This was the first time she'd used a blade, and it had been liberating.

In those early hours, before she'd wrapped her pink coat around her nightgown and stepped off the Cooper's porch, she had gone into her father's bathroom. She could still hear the clink of metal against porcelain as the box of razors spilled into the sink still covered in dried shaving cream and her father's blonde beard stubble.

She closed her eyes and recalled it, the red, gush of blood cascading down her leg, to her calf, and ankle, soaking into the white shag bathroom rug below her feet. It had been such a rush, the control of it, giving the pain something physical to cling to. Her body tingled now with just the recall if it, the heady surge that thrilled through her. The release she'd felt as the blade sliced through her skin had reminded her of the first time Jughead's expert fingers had slipped into the front of her panties, and she came against his touch.

The cut had stopped bleeding hours ago. She tilted her head downward, touched it lightly with the pad of her index finger. It didn't form a straight line like she thought it would. It curved upward, grinning at her, mocking her for her stupidity. Yes, it hurt like hell. Yes, it had momentarily shocked her back into sanity, but it hadn't kept the darkness at bay. Maybe it hadn't been deep enough.

She thought she'd get better now that she finally had someone love her. Now that she had Jughead. But the darkness was still there, still everywhere, all consuming, never ending. And she wanted it to stop. Even if just for moment. She pushed her finger harder into her thigh until the fresh wound stung. Everything should be better. Her mind should have cleared.

Last night, before the sleeplessness, she had sat in the passenger seat of FP's truck, stock still, suddenly unable to move. Even though Jughead was right beside her, the darkness but it was there, its thick, ugly hands around her neck.

"You think Mama Cooper is watching us through one of the windows?" he asked as he put the car into park in front of Betty's house.

He reached across the short distance of the cab, undid her seatbelt and pulled her closer to him on the bench seat. She tried not to stiffen at his touch. This feeling of foreboding had nothing to do this him. Jughead nudged her throat with his mouth, breathed her in, kissed her collarbone. His hands were in her hair now.

"Seeing Fred so close to death, knowing Cliff and Jason are both dead, it makes me appreciate being alive. Being with you," he said. "I love you so much, Betty."

She tried to respond, to concentrate on the movement of Jughead's lips against her skin. Jughead loved her. She loved him. If she could get out of her own head, she could climb onto his lap, take him inside herself, and he could make her feel more than alive, something other than this weighty sadness

"Betty?" Jughead's voice reached through all her thoughts. He had pulled away, but still had his hand on her shoulder. "What is it? What's wrong?"

She shook her head and smiled. "What? Nothing! I'm fine!" she said, finally finding her voice She nodded her head, her ponytail swinging against her neck. Her voice sounded fake, even to herself.

"My hand was under your skirt and you didn't even notice," Jughead said.

She grabbed his hand and slid it up her thigh. Maybe if he kept touching her, he'd chase her demons away.

He drew his hand away. "Betty." His voice was firm yet concerned. "What is it? You haven't been yourself since I picked you up to visit Archie and Fred in the hospital, not since yesterday morning in the trailer. When you woke up you were different. If you're worried about the Serpents, don't. They're harmless."

"I know," she said. "I'm not worried about that."

"Then what is it?" he asked.

"Nothing! I'm fine!" Again her tone was too bright, too rehearsed. "Just tired. So much has happened in the last few days."

He reached into her jacket pockets, where she had carefully kept her hands hidden while they had been together tonight in the hospital. She rested her balled up fists in her lap, but he didn't let that stop him. As he uncurled her fingers, she looked out the passenger side window. A light turned on downstairs at the Cooper house.

"Oh, Betty," he said when he discovered what she'd done to herself.

"I'm okay," she said, still not looking at him. The front porch light switched on. "I swear. Like I said, I've just been a little overwhelmed, that's all."

His dark eyebrows were drawn together in concern, like he didn't buy her excuse. He knew what was really wrong. He turned her head towards him. "I love you. All of you. Everything. Every part. I'll be the light if you let me. I want to be there for you."

Alice came out onto the porch. Looking out to the street, she cupped her hands over her eyes, and then she waved when she spotted both of them.

"You are there for me, Jug. I'm okay. I promise. I love you." She leaned over and kissed his cheek. "

"Betty, wait," he said, taking hold of her arm as she reached for the door handle. "Talk to me."

"I need to go," she replied. Alice had taken the first two steps off the porch and was walking down the cement walkway. "She's still pissed I slept over at FP's the other night. When she and Hermione compared notes, they realized Veronica said she was at my house, and I said I was at hers. I'm kind of grounded, and she lectured me for over an hour on the risks of teen sex even though I'm on birth control. The only reason she let me out of the house tonight was because she likes Fred."

He unfolded her fingers, exposing the raw, crescent moon shaped cuts on her palms, and kissed them. "I love you," he said, locking his gaze on hers. "Whatever you need, I'm here. Call me Text me. Shit, email me if you need anything tonight. It's only a seven minute drive from the Southside."

God, she was lucky. He loved her so much, so much more than she thought was possible. "Okay," she said. Yes, she had showed him her scars and he had kiss them, loved her despite them, but he really had no idea how bad it could get.

How bad it was right then. Instead of calling him, she was here, alone in the projection booth, bleeding and shivering in the dark. This was stupid. She should be with Jughead right now, not alone. She needed him. Retrieving her phone, she reached into the pocket of her coat. As she punched in her access code, she heard someone yell her name. She had fifteen voicemails, sixty-two texts, and thirty-seven missed calls from Jughead alone.

"Betty!"

It was Jughead. He was he person she was about to call, but now that she realized he was so close, she started to panic. She caught her reflection in the broken glass of a window. She looked every bit as crazy as she was. Her ponytail had half come hair that was hanging loose was matted to her head. Her legs were streaked with crimson lines, dry drips of blood. She wanted to hide in the shadows. She didn't want him to see her like this, but when she heard the tremble in his voice as he called out of her again, she said, "Juggie." Since she hadn't spoken in hours, her throat sounded scratchy.

He came through the opening, stopping short when he saw her. His dark damp hair was plastered to his forehead, his head free of his crown cap. His blue eyes were wide with fear. "What happened?" he asked. His fingers brushed up the length of her leg, along the red lines. "Who did this to you?"

All she had to do was look at him and he knew.

"Oh, Betts," he said.

Burying her head in his chest, she melted into him as he lifted her up into his arms. Jughead didn't speak as he carried her to the truck. He didn't have to because she felt how much she loved him as he gently placed her in the passenger seat, belting her in. They drove through the empty streets of town. The glowing green numbers on the radio clock told her it was hours later than she thought it was. She'd been in that projection shack past nightfall. Jughead parked the truck next to the trailer's front steps. He went around to her side, opened the truck's door for her, and helped her out of the cab. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and as they walked up the icy front steps, she was grateful for the steady feel of him next to her. Once inside, Jughead flipped on the lights and lead her to the back bedroom, where he sat her on the bed.

"I'm going to run you a hot bath," he said. "Your lips are blue." He didn't look at her as he spoke, and when she saw her reflection in the glass doors of the closet, she knew why. Her skin was the color of fine china and looked just as thin, the circles under her eyes the color of eggplants. She looked like a ghost, like she was already dead. She turned away from her ghastly reflection and curled into herself on top of FP's bed.

Jughead came back a few minutes later, and held out his hand for her. She took it, he pulled her to her feet, and then she followed him across the hall. The small bathroom was filled with steam from the bath water, the mirror fogged up, too. She knew she needed to get into the tub, but her limbs felt like they were packed with wet sand. She couldn't move. Jughead stepped in front of her, and she watched him as he undid her coat and let it fall to the floor. He pushed the hem of her nightgown up her thighs and over her head. Like a nurse taking care of a patient, there was nothing sexual about the way he undressed her.

He glanced down at her legs, and she knew he saw the cut and the dried blood. He squeezed his eyes tight, a single tear escaping, but he didn't say anything about it. She was grateful because she didn't have the strength to explain it right now. He took her hands in his and brought them up to his lips to kiss each one in turn. Her face turned up to meet his.

"I love you," he said.

She needed to respond, but her lips wouldn't move. She was mute. She dropped her gaze to the cracked tile floor beneath her feet. She didn't deserve Jughead. This isn't what he signed up for. For the first time tonight, she realized he wasn't wearing his crown cap. His grey sweater was wrong side out, and he too had dark circles under his eyes. He didn't look like he'd slept last night either. He must have been up all night looking for her, worrying, wondering where she was, if she was okay.

He took her face in his hands, "I love you, Betty Cooper." His eyes were wide, vulnerable.

He didn't demand she say back. He didn't pepper her the thousand questions she was sure he wanted to ask. He simply kissed her forehead and helped her step into the bathtub. Closing her eyes, she sank into the warm water. Jughead had filled the bath up so much that some of the water sloshed over the sides.

From the nitch in the shower wall, she picked up the soap, but winced when the suds stung the cuts on her palms. The bar of soap plopped it into the water with a splash. Jughead grabbed it, worked up a good lather, and started to work his hands over her body. When he got to her shoulders, he squeezed them gently, like he always did when she needed reassurance and she needed that now. Needed to know she was still alive, that everything would be okay, and that he was there with her. He was still with her. Jughead Jones searched for her throughout the night, and when he found his girlfriend a mess and alone and bleeding, he didn't complain. He didn't ask her why. He picked her up and brought here to his home. He protected her, saved her.

That was it, all it took to bring her back into the light. Jughead Jones loved her, and for the moment, was enough to chase the darkness away.

Her shoulders quaked as the sobs she'd been holding in finally escaped. For a moment, his fingers left her. She heard him toe off his shoes. Then his jacket and the rest of his clothes hit the floor, too. The water overflowed as Jughead joined her in the tub. Positioned behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist. She turned her body into him and rested her head on his chest, and he let her cry until the tears cleansed her, until she could start anew.

After she calmed down, he let the water drain from the tub, and helped her out. He wrapped a warm, thick towel around her shoulders, drying her off. He lead her to the bedroom and pulled the covers back for her. He laid down next to her, and she scooted over until she could rest his head on his chest. She listened to the steady beat of her heart.

He kissed the top of her head, and the said, "Do you want to tell me what happened?" She shook her head. "Okay. I'm here when you're ready," he said. His arms tightened around her and he sighed.

She wanted to tell him what happened, how sorry she was that he'd been so worried, and how grateful she was for what he'd done for her tonight, but her throat was too dry, and there were too many things that needed to be said and it was so late. So instead, she said the one thing she knew would always be true.

"I love you, Jughead Jones."

"I love you, too," he replied.

With the drum of his heartbeat in her ear and the warmth of his body next to hers, Betty fell asleep, finally at peace in the darkened bedroom of Jughead's trailer.


	2. Goldhead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know the last chapter got a little dark, but Betty has said it herself, that darkness is inside of her. She’s dealing with a mental illness, something I have dealt with myself, and I believe that she’s going to have to work through it. But don't worry, our dynamic detective duo is coming back! Also this is a continuation of my first fic here: http://archiveofourown.org/works/10213313/chapters/22666340  
> Betty and Jug did it awhile ago, so don't expect any sweet, virginal sex. 

Chapter Text

Once Betty settled into slumber beside him, Jughead eased out of the bed. He looked down at his sleeping girlfriend, her wet hair spread across his pillowcase. She was naked beneath the sheets, and normally the idea of her lithe frame and bare breasts would have made him hard, but he was too worried to be aroused, too preoccupied by the reopened wounds on her palms and now the new cut on her thigh. 

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand. He owed Alice Cooper a call. They both had been out all day and night looking for Betty. 

Before dawn this morning, he’d been awakened at the Andrews’ home by someone talking in the kitchen. Before the voices had woken him up, he’d spent the night staring at his phone, waiting for a text from Betty. After hours of not receiving one, he’d fallen asleep, phone in hand, but he jolted awake when the kitchen door slammed and Mary Andrews had walked in. He sneaked down the stairs and listened, hidden in the shadows of the foyer.

“What?” Mary said into the receiver of her cell phone. “You were wrong about the man who shot Fred? You arrested the wrong person? The guy had an airtight alibi and you let him go? I don't understand. How could you let this happen, Keller?”

She waited a beat, listening to whatever excuses Sheriff Keller was giving her. The sounds of her heels, pacing in the wooden kitchen floors, echoed through the house.

“This is unacceptable! It's been almost forty-eight hours since Fred was shot. You know the first forty-eight are the most crucial. The shooter could be in Bali by now for all we know. You might never be able to catch him.” She stopped pacing, shouldered off her suit jacket, and hung it on the back of a kitchen chair. “Yeah. Yeah. At least Fred is alive. But, Keller, do you think. . . Do you think this has anything to do with Goldhead?” 

What the hell was Goldhead? 

“I know. I know. We're not supposed to talk about it, but I can't help but wonder. We're coming up on the twenty-fifth anniversary of that horrible night. What if?” Her voice trailed off while she waited for the sheriff to give his opinion. 

Twenty-five years? Jughead did the math. That would have put them all in high school. Their senior year maybe? What had happened to them? 

While Mary continued to listen to Keller, Jughead did a quick Google search on Goldhead. Michael Roess Goldhead. He clicked the article, but only learned that Michael Goldhead had a state park in northern Florida, nothing else. Nothing of any importance. No news articles and no police files. 

“Yeah, I know. All seven of us promised to take it to the grave,” Mary said. “Don't worry. I won't say anything to anyone.” Then she hung up her cell.

Jughead processed what he'd heard--Fred's shooter hadn't really been caught and Sheriff Keller, Mary, Fred, and four others were keeping an incriminating secret that they swore to take to their deaths, a secret that might have gotten Fred shot. A secret that could be threatening Mary still. Jughead was so deep in thought that he startled when Mary came around the corner and almost ran into him. 

“Juggie!” Mary said, her hand over her heart, her eyes wide with surprise. “You scared me. What are you doing here? I thought you'd be with your foster family?” 

Jughead had met the family this morning, a kind older couple who had never been able to conceive a child of their own. They lived in the trailer park at the center of the Southside. Phil and Jane Cummings had a small bedroom for him, an endless supply of baked goods, and all the Jeopardy he could handle. Staying with them wouldn't be that bad, but he wasn't ready to move in yet. And they had given him the freedom to decide when would join them.

“Not yet. I wanted to stay here in case Archie needed anything,” Jughead said. 

Mary touched his shoulder. “You've always been such a good friend to him, maybe better than he deserves. Are you hungry? I can fix you something to eat.”

“I'm fine. Thanks. Is everything okay?” he asked. “Fred alright?”

She shifted on her feet. “Yeah. Of course. Archie decided to stay overnight, but Fred is just fine.”

“Did the police find out anymore about the shooter?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. After a moment, she said, stumbling through her words, “Not sure. I haven't talked to Keller in a few hours.” 

She was lying and Jughead knew there had to be a reason. The journalist inside him wanted to grill her about what he'd overheard about Fred's real shooter being on the loose and everything else she and Sheriff Keller had discussed, but he also knew he'd probably find out a lot more from snooping in his own. She wasn't going to tell him the truth anyway. And for that he needed how favorite sleuthing partner.

“Okay. Well, goodnight,” he said, and then he turned on his heels and climbed the stairs again. 

Once back in the room, he went to his bag for some clothes to change into. Yes, it wasn't yet morning, but he wanted to tell Betty right away what he'd found out. She had told him she hadn't been sleeping well, so he sent her a text saying that he was coming over. He dressed and paused at the doorway, listening to see if Mary was still up. After a moment, he heard the shower turn on, and he stepped out into the hallway.

He checked his phone as he went down the stairs, but Betty hadn't responded to his text yet. He wouldn't wait for her. If she was asleep, he'd just climb into her bed and sleep with her until morning. There had been something off about her last night when they'd sat in FP's truck. He needed to be with her now, with or without the sleuthing. He was sure the ladder he used to climb into her bedroom was still tucked behind the bushes on the side of her house. He pulled on his coat and eased the front door open.

Once outside, he looked up to Betty's window and saw that her lamp was on. When he reached the top of the ladder, he was so shocked when he saw not Betty but Alice standing in the middle of the room that he almost fell off the ladder. 

After Alice told him that Betty was missing, they'd spent the morning and the rest of the day looking for her, going their separate ways this afternoon to cover more ground. 

And that was why he owed Alice a call. He'd sent her a text earlier tonight when he was filling up the bath for Betty, and told Alice that he'd found her and she was okay. Alice had sent him two dozen texts by now and left three voicemails. 

He sat on the green sunken in sofa in the living room while he waiting for Alice to answer. Hot Dog was sleeping on the cushion next to him. The dog twitched in his sleep, but didn't acknowledge when Jughead stroked its fur.

“Forsythe Jughead Jones the third!” Alice exclaimed. “Where are you and where is my daughter?”

“We’re at the trailer. She's sleeping. She's okay.”

“But what about the blood I found in the bathroom?”

He hesitated, not knowing how to respond. Sure, he didn't know for certain why Betty had that cut on her leg, but he had already guessed what had happened. But even if he did know what really happened, he didn't feel like it was his place to tell Alice. Not yet. At least not until he discussed things with Betty.

“It was just an accident. She had a cut on her leg. Nothing serious. She's okay. I promise.”

He heard Alice softly crying into the receiver. “She's my baby,” Alice said. “I don't want her hurting.”

“I know, and I'm going to take care of her tonight. You know how much I love her.” 

Alice sniffled. “I know. Thank you for being there. Thank you for helping me search. Call me in the morning.”

“I will,” he said and then hung up. 

He rested his head on the back of the sofa and closed his eyes. He was grateful to have found Betty and have her here with him now, but finding his sweet, vibrant girlfriend terrified and mute, looking like a phantom, had scared the shit out of him. And it made him sad to see her so withdrawn and distant. How could he help her? How could he pull her out of this melancholy? Could he? No matter what it took, he'd be with her every step of the way. 

“What are we going to do, Hot Dog?” he asked the sleeping dog. He waited for a response, but Hot Dog snored on. “Thanks for your help, buddy.”

Jughead stood and stretched, and went into the kitchen to fill Hot Dog’s food bowl. He'd only owned the dog for a few days, but had learned that it liked an breakfast early. If he didn't fill the bowl now, Hot Dog would climb into bed around four in the morning, and repeatedly lick his face until he woke up. Jughead was exhausted. He and Betty both needed to sleep in. He petted Hot Dog one last time when he passed through the living room. He smiled when the dog licked his hand and immediately back to sleep. All his life, he'd begged FP for a dog, and the answer was always no. Life wasn't perfect right now, but at least he had finally gotten his dog. He paused at the bedroom door. And he'd gotten the girl of his dreams. The only girl who had ever mattered.

But before he could join her in bed again, there was a soft knock on the front door. Who the hell could that be? It was still the middle of the night. He had decided to ignore whoever was there and climb into the warm bed with Betty, but then the knock came again, louder this time, more of a pounding. He didn't want it to wake Betty, so he stomped over and retched open the door, ready to curse out whoever was there, ready to send them away.

But he didn't. There was a guy with brown, slicked back hair and a Serpents jacket on his front stoop. Jughead stopped short when he realized it was his new friend Zach from Southside High. Zach had come up to him in the cafeteria in the first day, stolen a french fry, and that was all it took. Zach was also a son of a Serpent nicknamed Snake, the guy who'd knocked on his door the other night and told Jughead that the Serpents had his back. What was it with this family and their middle of the night visits that interrupted his time with Betty? 

“What?” Jughead snapped when Zach kept looking over his shoulder instead of telling Jughead why he was here at this ungodly hour. “What is it?”

“I . . . um. Sorry to wake you,” Zach said. He twisted his head around again and looked behind him. 

As Jughead waited, Hot Dog joined him, sitting next to his heels. The noise at the door must have roused his nearly useless guard dog. He leaned down and whispered to Hot Dog, “Good boy.”

“Oh, good,” Zach said, noticing Hot Dog. Eric squatted down to pet the dog, and Hot Dog licked his hand. “This is where you got off to. I was afraid you'd gone missing too, boy.”

“What's wrong?” Jughead asked again. 

Zach straighten up. “You haven't seen my dad, have you?” Jughead shrugged. “You know, big guy.” He held his hand up about six inches over his head, showing Jughead how tall his dad was. “Long hair, goes my Snake.”

“I know who your dad is, but no, I haven't seen him.”

“Oh, okay,” Zach said, starting to back down the stairs. “I just thought maybe…”

Jughead didn't know all the Serpents well, but he knew enough about them to know that Snake was a devoted father. If Zach was looking for him, something was wrong. “Why are you looking for him? Has something happened?” Jughead asked.

“Dunno,” Zach replied with a shrug. “It's just not like him to not be in contact. If you see him, please let him know I'm looking for him.”

“Okay,” Jughead said. “Wait.” He grabbed the sleeve of Zach's Serpent jacket. It was a reach, but his something told him that something was off. His journalist senses were tingling. Fred getting shot, the Andrews, Keller, and four other mystery people having some deep dark secret that was coming up on its twenty-fifth anniversary, something called Goldhead, and now Snake was missing. In any good story, and in real life, there were no coincidences. Everything might not be connected, but it was all happening at once for some reason.

Then one more thing occurred to Jughead. “Why did you come here?” He asked. “I barely know your dad. Why would you come to me?”

“You're FP’s son. With him in jail and Mustang dead, I just assumed leadership of the Serpents fell to you.”

“I'm not taking over for him,” Jughead said. 

Zach looked down at his feet, shifting his weight. “Maybe you should,” he said. “FP has always bragged about how smart you are. I think you would be good at it.”

“At a life of crime?” Jughead said, scoffing.

“That's not what we do and you know it.”

Zach was right. Yeah, the Serpents were a rough crowd, but he's never seen or heard them do anything too illegal. A dime bag of weed, a bar fight, loitering at the gm drive in. They weren't well off like that majority of the people in Riverdale and most of the town thought they were useless criminals, but Judged knew what it was like to be judged on false pretenses. 

“I'll keep an eye out for your dad,” Jughead said.

“Thanks, man,” Zach said and walked through the front lawn and disappeared into the shadows of the trailer park. 

Snake missing was weird, but with everything else added to that it was irrefutable proof that the last innocence of Riverdale, the sweet, small town with pep, had died with Jason Blossom.

At least he still had Betty, his refuge from the shit storm that was coming to his town. 

He eased the bedroom door opened and stood next to the bed where she lay, wrapped up in a blanket, sleeping in his bed. Even in her darkness, she was beauty, a light to his life. The darkness didn’t bother him. He'd lived his life in the shadows, too. Like him, Betty Cooper had layers, and he loved every one of them.

She shifted beside him when he pulled back the covers and snuggled up. On his side, he pulled her into him, affixing her backside to his front, kissed her bare shoulder, and she sighed in her sleep. Underneath the covers, her hand found his, fingers feeding through his, the thin, rough scars on her palms rubbing against his skin. He slipped his free hand down to her leg, searching for the new cut there. He felt it against his fingertips, the skin around it puffy and angry, not yet scabbed over.

Maybe her darkness did worry him a little, but it was only because he hated that she was hurting. That she'd caused herself this physical pain. 

He brushed the hair from her neck aside and kissed her. Even though he couldn't see her face, he knew she smiled. That's how it was with Betty. When she was happy, her entire being radiated joy. She opened up and offered it to the world. She turned until she was facing him. 

“Good morning,”she said. She kissed him on the nose, and looked out the small bedroom window to the still night sky. “But I guess it's not really morning.”

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine,” she replied. 

She nuzzled his chest, kissing in between his pectoral muscles. Then her hands moved down his stomach. She tilted her head up, her mouth brushing against his, her tongue slipping into his mouth. Her hand slipped into the front of his pajamas and her fingers wrapped around him, forming a fist. 

“Betty, wait,” Jughead said, laying his hand over hers, stopping her movement. “We need to talk about what happened last night.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, laying her hand on his chest. 

He pulled back a little so he could look at her better, trying to see if she was serious or not. “You remember, right?” he asked. 

“Yeah,” she admitted on a sigh. “I’m fine. I promise.”

“But this is different, Betts. I saw the cut on your leg. What happened?”

She turned into him, burying her head in his chest. “I feel so stupid. So embarrassed.”

“Did you cut yourself?” he asked. She only nodded. Shit. That's what he thought. This was different from the marks on her hands, more dangerous.

“I don't know why I did it.” She rolled her lips inward and didn't say anything for a moment. “Yes, I do,” she admitted. “I got overwhelmed by… What I don't know. My family just keeps pretending everything is fine. It's like the Stepfords over there. All smiles and sunny things, but everything is falling apart. And sometimes I just get this sense, a feeling, a fear that everything is wrong, even when everything is good. It's overwhelming, weighty, suffocating.”

She had no idea, but her feeling of forewarning was right on. Something bad was coming to Riverdale, already here. He wanted to reassure her that she wasn't crazy. She was actually right to be afraid, but he didn't want to add one more stress to her. For now, he would keep her in the dark with what was really happening. He'd give her one more day, but then he'd need his detective, journalist girlfriend to help him figure out this mystery. 

“I hadn't sleep much,” she said. “Hadn't slept at all but for the night I spent with you. And the darkness I told you about felt like it was crushing me. In the past, digging my fingernails into my palms had been enough to keep me in check, but it wasn't this time. And in my sleep deprived madness, I thought a deeper cut would help.”

“Did it?” he asked, genuinely trying to understand why she did it. 

She opened her mouth to speak, but instantly shut it with a clink of her teeth. After a moment, she lowered her head and shook it. “I won't do it again, I promise.” 

She didn't say no, and he wasn't sure if he believed her, but he didn't want to push her right now. He kissed the crown of her head, and said, “And please don't disappear like that again.”

“I'm sorry, Jug. I hate that I worried you.”

“Just promise me if you ever feel the urge to hurt yourself again like that that you'll call me. I’ll be there. I’ll help you figure it out.”

“I promise.” She kissed his cheek. “I really am sorry. So sorry.”

“I'm just glad you're safe.” He kissed her forehead this time. “I was so worried. It’s not like you to not text back, but then I remembered that your mom had figured out that we’d been having a lot of sex in this trailer when you were supposed to be having a slumber party with Veronica. I thought maybe Alice had grounded you and taken away your phone. But then I--” he stopped himself. He almost let it slip what he'd found out about Fred's shooter. And something about Goldhead, whatever that was. He'd tell her later, after she'd had a good night's sleep.

“I missed you too much and decided to sneak up into your room. But when I climbed your ladder, I about fell off of it when I saw your mom standing in the middle of your room. The drawers of your dresser were pulled out, its contents spilled out onto the floor. Alice Cooper looked up at me, my hand in a fist ready to knock on your windowpane.”

“Oh God! My mother!” Betty sat up. “She's going to kill me.” 

When she started to get out of bed, he stopped her. “No, it's okay. I called her. She knows where you are.”

“Fornicating in the Sunnyside Trailer Park,” Betty quipped. She laughed at her own joke, and it sounded good, like the clever bright girl he knew and loved. 

“You wish we were fornicating right now,” he said, tickling her sides.

Squirming in his grasp, she giggled and slapped his hands away. He used the opportunity to roll her onto her back and pin her hands over her head. Serious now, he looked down at her. “I love you,” he said.

The laugh on her lips melted into a soft smile. “I love you, too.” He released her wrists, and she reached up and touched his cheek. “Thank you for saving me tonight.”

“I didn't do anything as heroic as saving you,” he responded. “And you don't need me to save you. Elizabeth Cooper will save herself.”

“But you'll be here next to me.” She closed her eyes for moment. “What if I do it again again, Jug?” 

“You won't,” he replied. 

“But what if I do?”

If she asked him the question twice, it must have been because she had been considering doing it again. “Then we'll get you help.”

She nuzzled her nose against his throat. “Back to fornicating,” Betty said. There was a light joyfulness in her voice. 

She pushed up the hem of his sweater up, and starting at the waistband of his pants she kissed a trail from his bellybutton to his collarbone. She nipped his earlobe as she moved her hands over his chest, and he felt himself growing stiff beneath the thin fabric of his pants. He let Betty touch her fill, and he enjoyed every second of it. He wanted to touch her, wanted to nudge her legs open and push himself inside her softness. Worried that she still wasn't in her right mind, he wanted to let her take the lead this time. 

Betty pushed Jughead's shoulders until he was on his back on the bed. She smirked down at him as she climbed onto him, straddling his lap. She settled over him, grinding down, rubbing herself against his hardness.

He took in the sight of her, her bare breasts, perky and pink swaying above him. His hand palmed one of her breasts and then the other. She bit her bottom lip and grinned down at him as his thumb brushed over her nipple, causing it to pearl up beneath his touch. 

She reached in between their bodies, pulled down the waistband of his pants, freeing him. She took him in her hand, and forming a fist around him, moved from his base to the tip, circling the head. 

“Shit,” he hissed. Her fingers tightened, moved faster. As she continued to rub herself against him, her head thrown back, sexy moans escaping her parted lips. God, all he wanted right now was to be inside her, but before he let that happen, he had to make sure she was really okay. 

He reached up and took her face in his palm. “Betty. Betty,” he repeated her name, and after a moment she looked down at him. “Are you sure? Are you okay?”

“I'm fine, Jug.” 

Her eyes were wide, hazy with lust. Her blond hair, still curling and damp from the bath, hung around her shoulders. The flood light from outside streaming through the window hit the curve of her neck, illuminating her in a glow of brilliance. This was his Betty. The darkness was no longer here with her. At least for the moment.

She shifted over him, adjusting herself until she hovered over him, waited for him to meet her gaze and locked eyes with him, and then she rose up just a little and came down on him. Hard. Her softness sheathed him. 

He released a deep, guttural moan when her hips pulsed forward. She didn't rise up, but kept him deeply embedded inside her. The top of him pressed into the back of her interior wall, and it was the best god damned thing he'd ever felt. For leverage, she placed her hands on his chest, and undulated her hips, rising up and down on him. 

He wasn't going to last long if she kept this up. Betty had always been very opened with him, but never so determined before, so possessed by need for him. He could see it in her eyes, a fire that had always been there, but was brighter than ever before. He moved his hand in between them, found the center of her sex, circled it with his fingertips, caressed it gently and first, but then harder when she tilted her pelvis upwards, wanting more. He increased the pressure on her. Her neck arched back, exposing the pale, slender column if her throat. Short and stagnant her breaths escaped her parted mouth, lips still swollen from kissing him. Her core vibrated against him. He could feel her orgasm from inside and out, and it took everything in his power not to come, too. 

Not giving her time to recover, he gripped her hips and flipped her onto her back. Caught off guard, she giggled as her back bounced onto the mattress, but she turned serious as he embedded himself inside her again. With her head against the pillow, she thrashed about as Jughead thrust in and out of her. 

When he heard the hitch in her throat again, that was it for him, all he could handle. He pulsed into her on last time, and that was it. Before he collapsed, he rolled off of her and onto his back. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. 

She scooted over in the bed and laid her head on his chest. They whispered to each other, accolades of love as they drifted off to sleep. Right as Jughead closed his eyes, his phone vibrated on the nightstand. Ignoring it, he turned over and pulled Betty into him, but the phone rang again and again, so much that it vibrated right off of the bedside table and onto the shag carpet below.

He swore as he jolted up from the bed. Afraid he'd woken up Betty in his haste to get up, he glanced back at her as he reached for the phone, but she hadn't stirred. 

Not recognizing the number, he started to turn his phone off, but then the call came through again. Whoever was calling obviously wasn't going to give up, so he stepped out into the hall and answered. 

“What?” Jughead asked in an angry whisper. 

“Hey,” said a vaguely familiar voice. “It's Zach. I need to talk to you. Can you meet me at the Whyte Wyrm?”

“What the hell for?” Jughead asked. “It's the middle of the night, it's raining, and you've gotten me out of bed with my girlfriend twice. You get that I'm not the leader of the Serpents, right?”

“Yeah, but--”

Jughead cut him off. “I'm going back to bed,” he said.

“Wait,” the desperation in Zach's voice made Jughead stop himself from having up. “I'm so sorry, man. I wouldn't bug you if I didn't think this was important.”

“Just tell me what happened,” Judged said. “Did your dad come home or something?” 

“A part of him did.”

That sounded grizzly. “What are you talking about?”

“Someone just rang the doorbell, and I went to answer it, no one was there. At least I thought.” Zach's voice caught. “I found his Serpent jacket on the front stoop. He never takes that thing off. It could be 98° outside and he'd be wearing it. And there was blood in the cuffs.”

“Oh, shit, dude. I'm sorry. Have to told sheriff Keller? He's the person you should be calling.”

“Like Keller would be any help.”

He had a point. Keller was a clueless, useless asshole. He wouldn’t be any help. “Maybe you're right, but this has nothing to do with me.”

“But I think it does. Because when I picked up the leather jacket from the stoop something fell out.”

He paused, and Jughead was tired and irritated enough that he swore when he thought Zach was pausing for dramatic effect. 

“What was in the jacket?” Jughead demanded.

“A picture. It was of your dad and six other people from when they were all in high school, probably twenty-five years ago. They had their arms around each other, laughing and smiling. They were standing in front of gold colored sign.”

Something clicked. Seven people. Twenty-five years ago. Gold.

“What did the sign say?” Jughead asked.

“What?” Zach asked. 

“What did the sign they were standing in front of say?”

“Goldhead.”

“I'll be right there,” Jughead said and him up.


	3. Before Dawn

"Betty." 

Through her deep slumber, she heard Jughead say her name, but she wasn't ready to get up. Not yet. She snuggled down in the bed, her body aching in all the right places from last night. 

"Betts, wake up."

As her eyes opened, she reach up to him, grabbed his arm and brought him down onto the bed with her. She spread her thighs, Jughead settling in between them, and she pulled his face down so she could kiss him. She wrapped her legs around his waist, and realized for some reason he was wearing jeans. She moved her hand between them, undid the snap of his jeans. 

"Why are you dressed?" she asked, working his jeans down his hips. 

"Wait," Jughead said, stopping her fingers that had hitched into the waistband of his underwear. 

"I don't want to wait," Betty said. 

He didn't try to stop her as she stretched up, nipped the thin skin of his throat. She slipped her fingers into his boxers, releasing him. Despite him telling her to wait a few moments ago, he was hard and ready. Since she was still naked, she slid him into her, and she sighed when he started to move. She tightened her legs around his ass, keeping him deeply inside, but also locking him into place, keeping him still. She ground her pelvis against him, rubbing the hood of her sex against his until everything inside her quickened and released. He came a second later, and laughed to himself as he rolled off of her and onto his feet. 

"You didn't even let me take my shoes off," he said. He yanked up his jeans and buckled his belt again. Then he put on his sherpa jacket. 

"Stop putting clothes on. You're doing the opposite of what I want," she said. 

"You need to get up," he said. He kissed her forehead.

She ignored the urgency in his voice. "No," she whined. She grabbed his wrist, trying to pull him back into bed with her, but he wouldn't budge this time. 

"We need to go," Jughead said, stepping away from her. He rooted around in the bottom drawers of the dresser under the window until he found what he was looking for. He handed her some clothes and a pair of scuffed black boots. "Get dressed."

She looked down at the white t-shirt and ripped and faded jeans in her lap. "Whose clothes are these?" she asked, but she already knew. 

His shoulders hunched when he answered, "My mom. You're a little thinner and taller, but they should fit." She wanted to ask him more about his mom, but she knew it was a sore subject. If he'd heard from Gladys Jones or anything had changed, he would have told her. For now she would leave the subject alone. 

"Where are the clothes I was wearing earlier?" she asked. 

"I put your nightgown and coat in the wash. They both had blood on them." He paused, opened his mouth to ask her a question, but then shook his head with a smile. "I had planned on keeping you naked at least until morning, so I didn't think we'd need them so soon."

What's going on?" She slipped on the shirt and jean. The shirt was a little baggy, the cuffs of the jeans hit her mid-calf. She sat on the edge of the bed to pull on the boots. There were a tight, but they'd do. She stood up and moved next to him, touching his forearm when he kept looking off into the distance, looking at nothing, lost in thought. 

He turned to her when she said how name. "Are you really okay?" he asked. He raised his eyebrows, making sure she was looking at him, trying to see if she was telling the truth or not.

"Yes, Jug, I've told you that. I'm fine. I promise." Why did he keep asking her? Either he didn't believe her, or she really did scare the shit out of him. His features softened as he leaned down to kiss her. "Tell me what's going on."

"While you were sleeping, I got a visitor and a phone call from Eric. I want to go see him tonight. You might remember him. He's the guy I was sitting with in the Southside High cafeteria, and he and his dad came over the other night with the other Serpents. They rudely interrupted our kitchen counter sex." He smirked at her. 

"They just delayed it. I definitely remember that night," she said. 

She straightened the collar of his sherpa jacket, tucked some of his dark hair back into his beanie, and kissed him on his cheek. On that same night in question, Jughead had been invited into the Serpents. She glanced into the closet where the symbolic leather jacket hung. That jacket worried, but also thrilled her. She always thought it would be fun to ride around on one of their motorcycles, get into to a little trouble. And she'd done her research on the Serpents when she'd written her latest article defending them and FP. The Serpents weren't the crimelords most people made them out to be. In fact, she'd found quite a few examples of them getting arrested when they were actually coming to the defense of others who had been mistreated. In a lot of cases she'd found that the Serpents were in reality the good guys. 

He took her chin in between his thumb and forefinger. "You know you don't have to worry about me joining them, right?" 

She shrugged and pulled the leather jacket out of the closet and slipped her arms into it. "I'd still love you if you did, Jug. You could be their leader and I wouldn't leave your side." She went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek again, but he caught her chin and brought her mouth to his and took a moment to really kiss her.

"I don't deserve you," he said.

"Yes, you do." She took his hand and he followed her through the trailer and out the door. Once they were inside the warmth of the truck, she asked, "So why are we out before the sunrise? Is it Fred?" 

He stared at her for a moment, confused, but then shook his head when he realized why she was asking. "I'm sorry. I never finished explaining where we're going and why. Fred is fine. But this partly has to do with him." He sighed. "It's kind of a long messy story. But last night before Eric came over, even before I went out to look for you, I was at Archie's and I overheard Mary talking to Sheriff Keller on the phone. Keller told her that they arrested the wrong guy."

Betty twisted to face him. "So the shooter is still out there?" Betty asked.

"Yep. Another important case bumbled by Sheriff Clueless. But that's not all I heard. Mary doesn't think that the shooting is random."

"Me either," she said excitedly. She'd been too caught up in her oncoming darkness that she hadn't gotten the chance to tell Jughead how she'd thought that everything with Fred's shooter had been tied up too neatly. Too perfectly to be true. To her, that was a warning sign that things didn't add up. 

Jughead parked the truck in front of a small blue trailer that was located at the center of the Southside. The exterior needed a fresh coat of paint, but the front porch was filled with small pots of colorful plants and flowers, like someone was trying their best to make it more homey. Jughead turned out the headlights, but left the truck running, the heat pumping through the small cab, protecting them from the freezing rain. 

"So why are we at Eric's house?" she asked. 

"I told you that it was a messy story."

"The best ones always are," she said. 

He paused to smile and nodded in agreement. "And I don't know where this one is going yet. Mary thinks that the shooting has to do with something that happened to them, and four other people twenty-five years ago. Something called Goldhead."

"Gold what?" 

"Don't know yet, but I think Eric is going to help us figure it out. That's why we're here to see him."

"How do you think Eric can help?" Betty asked. 

"Eric's dad, Snake, is missing."

"Snake?" Betty asked, chuckling at the name. "Are you going to get a cool new nickname if you join the Serpents." She patted his cheek, teasing him.

"I already have a nickname," he said, grinning. "But anyway. Eric came to me, looking for guidance on what about his dad. I told him I had no idea where his dad was or what to do, and honestly I just wanted to get back into bed with you, but something about it, his dad going missing, Fred getting shot, Keller and the Andrews having some deep dark secret, it all rubbed me the wrong way. And something about it all was off or connected. . . Or something. I don't know."

"It got your journalist juices flowing," she said. She was sitting on her knees, ready to start investigating right this second, even though the sun had just started to rise.

"Yes, and if all that wasn't enough, Eric called me twenty minutes ago and told me more. Someone rang his doorbell and left Snake's jacket on the front porch. With a picture inside. Eric told me that Snake, my dad, and five other people were in the picture. They were all standing in front of a sign for Goldhead."

"Interesting. What's Goldhead?" she asked. 

"I don't know. The only thing I found was a website for a state park named Goldhead in Florida. Nothing else."

"So it's a mystery," Betty said. Her mind started churning, putting all the information together, but then she stopped, realizing something. "Why didn't you tell me any of this earlier, like in the middle of the night when I woke up the first time?"

His fingers tightened around hers as he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed the back of her hand. "You've gone through a lot over the last twenty-four hours. I wanted to make sure you were okay before I thrust all this on you."

"I'm okay, Jug," she replied. How many times did she have to tell him before he believed her? She knew that cutting herself had to be scary to him, it was scary to her, too, but she wanted to put it all behind her. She was okay now. Totally fine, ready to move on from it. 

"I know. I just wanted to give you a little time to breathe." 

"Well, I've breathed, and I'm ready."

"Good, because I need you and your smart brain. Are you ready to reinstate the Cooper and Jones Investigations?"

"Always," she replied.

He kissed her one last time, and then went around to the passenger side of the truck and opened her door for her. He helped her out of the tall cab, and keeping his hand in hers, lead her up to Eric's front porch. 

Jughead pulled open the trailer's front screen and knocked on the door. As they waited for an answer Betty surveyed her boyfriend. She had shown an even uglier side of herself to him tonight, and here he was. He wouldn't be scared off. How had she overlooked him for so many years, not seen his goodness and dedication? Those years might have been lost to them now, but she would never take him for granted again. Never. 

When no one answered the door to Eric's house, Jughead tried the doorknob and it opened for them, letting them into the dark living room. 

"Hello?" Betty called out. She flipped on the lights, but the room was empty except for a few couches and a older flat screen TV. "Are we at the right place?" 

Jughead pulled out his phone and looked up the address Eric had sent him. "Yep. This is where he told me to go." 

With Jughead following her, Betty moved through the house, starting in the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. She picked up framed pictures and any pieces of paper that she found, looking for some pertinent information. Nothing stood out. As she walked down the narrow hallway, Jughead wrapped his arms around her waist, pulled her back into his front, and kissed the nape of her neck. 

"I love it when you turn into a sleuth," Jughead said. "It turns me on." His hand went around to her front and palmed her breast, making a rush of heat thrill through her. "Everything you do turns me on."

Giggling, she swatted his hand away as his fingers tried to dip past the waistband of the jeans. "If you start that, we'll never get any investigating done," she said. 

Holding his hands up in defeat, he took the hint and step back a little. "You're right. You're right," he agreed. He moved past her and to the door in front of her. The knob wouldn't turn.

Trying the knob herself, Betty placed her hand over his. "Locked," she said. 

"He's not here." A creaky voice came from nowhere, causing both to jolt with a fright and spin around. 

"Holy shit!" Betty said as she spun around. 

"Language, young lady," the old lady said. 

A petite, frail looking grey haired woman hobbled towards them, relying on a walker to give her stability. She was dressed in a ratty housecoat and frade slippers. Thick, purple framed bifocals were perched on her nose.

"Eric left here in a huff a few minutes. Got a phone call on his cellular device, yelled at someone, and then tore out of here. Waking me up in the damn middle of the night." She fluffed her fluffy hair. "I'll have you know I didn't get this beautiful by chance. I need eight hours of beauty sleep a night to look this good. You'd think he'd know that seeing as how he's my one and only grandson."

Jughead snickered, but agreed. "You're right, miss. All that beauty sleep paid off." Then he leaned over and whispered in Betty's ear, "I wonder if she knows Nana Rose. Pick that door lock and see what you can find inside, Nancy Drew. I'll get sleeping beauty back to bed."

When Jughead tried to lead the woman away, she turned back to Betty. "It's nice to see you again, Alice. Still as pretty and fiery as ever. Give that handsome boyfriend of yours some love for me." She waved over her shoulder as she walked away. This wasn't the first time someone had mistaken Betty for a young Alice. Betty had seen the old photos herself. The resemblance was uncanny.

"What is it about old ladies coming out of the shadows in creepy houses and recognizing you?" Jughead asked Betty as he walked down the hall behind Eric's grandma. He turned the hallway corner and helped Eric's grandma get into her bedroom. 

Betty ducked into the bathroom, found a bobby pin in a drawer, but she paused when she caught her reflection in the mirror. Her ponytail was still high, but looser than normal, a few blond strands framing her face. Her cheeks looked hollowed out, her skin pale. She straightened the oversized jacket, turning to look at the two snakes forming an S on the back of it. She liked what she saw.

Within thirty seconds of leaving the bathroom, the bedroom door popped open. She turned on the lights and look around. It was your typical teenage boy's bedroom, bed unmade, dirty clothes on the floor, papers and textbooks piled on the desk. After a quick scan, she found the Serpent jacket balled up on the floor of the closet. The picture was there on the carpet, a little crumpled, the edges of it tinged red with what she only could think could be blood, but none of that distracted her from the face of the girl at the center of the photo. It wasn't the same picture Jughead had described to her. Instead of seven people, it only had two sitting on a motorcycle, and one of them Betty new instantly. 

Stunned, she stumbled out of the bedroom, picture still in hand. She shut Eric's door again, and ran into Jughead as he came down the hall from the grandmother's room. 

"You should be jealous," Jughead said. "While I was putting grandma to bed, she mistook me for her late husband and kissed me goodnight. She used her tongue." He wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand, but he stopped short when he saw the state of her. "What? What is it?"

"I found the jacket, but not the same picture Eric said he had. FP isn't in this one."

Betty handed the picture to Jughead, and his eyes widened when he looked down at it. "Is that who I think it is?" he asked. 

"My mother, Alice Cooper, wearing a Southside Serpent's jacket."


	4. The Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Betty and Jughead continue their investigation into Goldhead, and when they head to the Whyte Worm in search of Eric who is now missing, they find so much more than they bargained for.

"Snake's Serpent jacket to be exact," Betty said, holding up the crumpled jacket she'd found in the closet. "Alice Cooper is wearing a Southside Serpent's jackets." Every Serpent's jacket was a little different, so she could easily tell that this one belonged to Snake. The emblem on the back was a green, straight-as-an-arrow snake, the pointed head of it almost coming up to the collar of the jacket. The end of the snake's tail jutted out, almost like a sword handle.

"Holy shit," Jughead said.

"Language," Betty said with a smile, trying to find humor in this, something to ground her when her mind had to be spinning with a thousand thoughts.

Jughead peered over Betty's shoulder, studying the picture. "Is she looking lovingly into Snake's eyes?"

"Yes," Betty said.

Alice Cooper's blond hair was done up in a high, tight ponytail just like Betty wore it. Snake was in front of Alice on the motorcycle, and her arms were around his waist. His hair was short like Eric's, slicked back from his youthful, scruff-free face. Alice's gaze was tilted up as she stared into his eyes. Betty Cooper was a carbon copy of her mother, especially with her wearing a similar Southside jacket. Jughead would never comment on that fact because he knew she hated to be compared to Alice.

"I don't think I've ever seen her look at my dad that way," Betty admitted. Betty reached up and pulled the elastic band from her hair, letting it fall around her shoulders.

"That's the way you look at me," Jughead said, smirking at her.

She nudged him with her shoulder and rolled her eyes. "I can't believe my mother is wearing a Serpent jacket." Her mouth was turned down in a grimace.

"She might say the same thing about you," Jughead said, but he was smiling.

She started to pull it off, but Jughead stopped her. "No, leave it on," he said. "You look hot in it."

"So do you," Betty admitted. She kissed him on the cheek before following him out of the trailer. "We need to talk to my mom about this. I can't believe she was a Serpent and never told me."

"Are you really that surprised?" Jughead asked. "Alice Cooper is the queen of secrets."

"True," Betty replied. "But she'll tell me the truth. I think she's finally come to trust me."

"We'll go talk to her in a few hours. First we need to find Eric. This business with Snake makes me think that the Serpents are somehow tangled up in this. And I don't like that at all."

Betty looked him over, and then said, "The Serpents want you to be their leader," she said.

"I already told you not to worry about that," Jughead said, laying a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

She shook her head. "I'm not worried about that. Actually I think you should do it. Think of all the intel the Serpents would tell you just out of loyalty."

"So you want me to not only join the Serpents, but to also rule in FP's place?" he asked, raising his eyebrows, unable to believe that's what she wanted.

"Yes," she stated. "The Serpents aren't the bad guys, Jug."

"I know. I'll think about it," Jughead said. Did his sweet, cheerleader girlfriend really just suggest he be the leader of a gang? As odd as it seemed, Betty might have a point. They could get to the bottom of this mystery easier with the Serpents backing them. The Serpents had something to do with Goldhead, and he could find out a lot with their help. And he'd be lying if he didn't admit he'd always longed to be looked up to, to be a leader.

"Let's look for Eric and that picture right now," Jughead said.

"Any idea where he'd be?" Betty asked.

"The Whyte Wyrm."

Without question, Betty followed him out to the truck. That's how it was with her. If Betty Cooper believed in you, her faith never wavered. If Betty loved you, you were family. He'd never had that before, an unconditional love. Before Betty, he thought it was just a sentiment, a fantasy only romanticized in books, but Betty had brought everything good and bright into his life, so of course she loved him without question, without obligation without fear.

Jughead pulled into a parking space in front of the Whyte Worm. The lines in the parking lot were all but faded, a pothole every few feet. Weeds poked through the cracks of the sidewalk. The exterior paint had warped and peeled off decades ago. Crooked, the sign hung from only one hook, dangling in the wind. But the clientele wasn't here for the ambiance.

Jughead had spent too many hours sitting in the cab of FP's truck, engine shut off, windows cracked, staring at the rundown building that housed the Whyte Wyrm. When he was a kid, FP would say he needed to run into the bar for a quick second, but it'd be hours before Jughead would give up on waiting and go through the front doors. He'd sneak past the bouncers and find FP passed out, slumped over the end of the bar, gin and tonic still in his hand. Jughead would wake FP up enough so that he could help him to the basement, where he would tuck his dad into a pullout couch in the office. Jughead would sit up with him all night, monitoring his vitals until FP would wake up the next morning. Once Jughead turned twelve, FP taught him to drive during one of his bouts of sobriety. At the time Jughead thought it had been a father/son bonding experience, but in reality it had been so Jughead could drive FP home when his father was too trashed to drive.

Jughead hated the Whyte Wyrm. It was one of the reasons he refused to come here with Archie and Kevin came to investigate who might have beat up Moose. He didn't want to step inside then, and he sure as hell didn't want to go on there now. He had often wished one of the drunks would drop a cigarette into spilled vodka, and the dump would burn to the ground. He wasn't that lucky.

There was no use in avoiding it anymore, so Jughead, went around to Betty's door, opening it for her. "There's a back entrance that's always unlocked," Jughead said, taking her hand and bringing her along beside him.

At the back of the building, in between the overflowing dumpster and a pile of broken wooden crates, was the door that lead to the basement of the Whyte Wyrm. After yanking opened the warped door, Jughead pulled on the string attached to the bare bulb overhead. For just an instant, the stairwell bloomed with brightness, only to be followed by a burst of glass, the bulb blowing out. They were cast into utter darkness. Betty scrambled for his hand, eventually finding and gripping his fingers so tightly that the blood supply was cut off. He could hear her hurried, shallow breathing.

"It's okay," Jughead reassured her. "I know my way around in the dark." And he meant the literal dark and also her darkness. She must have understood what he meant because she gave him a sweet peck on the cheek.

The stairwell smelled of wet earth, and something else, something tinny. The way his mouth tasted when he accidentally bit his tongue. Blood.

"Is it just me, or did the temperature just drop a dozen horror movies?" Jughead asked, trying to lightened the heaviness that hung in the stairwell with them. By now his eyes had adjusted to the dark and he could make out her face as she smiled at him, but her body stiffened when they came through the door that opened into the cement floored common room of the basement. The room was empty now, cleaned out from when the police did a forensic sweep of the area of the crime scene, but the heaviness of death still hung in the air.

"This is where Jason was shot," Betty said.

"Yeah." Jughead stopped in front of the rust colored stain on the concrete floor, where the blood had leached from Jason's body. Jason Blossom was a snob, a bully, and your stereotypical asshole jock, but he didn't deserve what happened to him.

"It's sad," Betty said, standing beside him. "How his dad murdered him. His own father."

"No matter what FP's faults, at least I know that he loves me," Jughead said. For the first time in so long, he believed it, too. FP still hadn't said the words to him, but he had shown it in his actions. If only he could get his own mother to call him back. He sighed. Maybe there was just no reaching some people. He started to walk toward the other set of stairs that lead into the bar, but Betty stopped him.

"Wait," she said, and pulled him over to a short, dented filing cabinet pushed up against the cement wall. She pulled open the top drawer and started rifling through it.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She flipped through several files before she looked up at him. "Looking for my mother's name. I just don't believe prim and proper, God-fearing Alice Cooper was a Serpent. I need proof."

"What kind of proof? You've already seen the picture of her wearing her boyfriend's Serpent jacket."

"Exactly. The jacket belonged to Snake. She could have just been wearing it, just like I'm doing right now."

"Yeah, okay, but I still don't understand what you're hoping to find in there."

"A list of the members from twenty-five years ago," she replied.

He stilled her hand and put the files away. "This isn't the Boy Scouts. I seriously doubt FP had a roster of Serpents." The cabinet drawer clicked shut.

They went up another set of stairs and into the bar. A hazy smoke filtered over the empty tables and barstools, over the pool tables and jukebox. The scent of stale cigarettes and cheap alcohol clung to every service, and it smelled like Jughead's childhood-like disappointment and sadness, missed birthdays and unattended elementary school plays.

"Eric's not here," Betty said.

But Jughead knew that there was one person here day and night. They walked over to a dark corner booth where a man sat, steaming mug of coffee in hand. The man was in his sixties, styled grey hair, clean shaven, face lined, but not too weathered. He looked like he could be on the cover of an AARP magazine. If you exchanged his leather jacket for a polo, he'd look at home on the golf course. Except for the jagged scar that sliced from his right temple, down to his jaw. Jughead was use to the scar, but he felt Betty tense when the man turned his head to the left.

"Jughead Jones the Third," the man said. The left side of his mouth refusing to turn up unlike the right side that smiled up at him.

"Hey, Johnny," Jughead said. "Have you seen Eric?"

Johnny sat back in his seat and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, but he's gone now. I saw him pacing the sidewalk outside when I came in this morning, but he didn't come inside."

"Was he alone?" Betty asked.

For the first time, Johnny looked up at Betty, acknowledging her. "Not for long. Someone pulled up in a parking spot near him. He waved over to them and hopped into the car."

"Who was it? Who picked him up?" Betty questioned.

Johnny shrugged. "Couldn't say. It was still dark outside."

"Are there any surveillance cameras outside?" Betty asked.

Johnny only shrugged, so Jughead answered, "Yes, there are. The footage is in the office in the basement office. That's where my dad got the recording of Cliff shooting Jason. Is the office still unlocked?" Johnny shrugged again. "Thanks for all your help," Jughead said sarcastically.

Betty started to walk back toward the basement stairs, but spun around. "Did you know my mom?"

Johnny sat back and really looked at her. "That's why you look so familiar. Alice Cooper's girl?"

"Yes," Betty said firmly. "And we're looking for a missing teenage, so it'd be nice if you were slightly helpful. The last teen that went missing in this town ended up getting shot in the forehead right here in this establishment."

He chuckled. "Yep, Alice is your mother for sure."

Betty sat down at the table with him. "Was my mom really a Serpent?"

"The Queen of the Southside herself."

She nodded, taking the information in, keeping her emotions in check. "And she hung out with Fred, Mary, and FP?"

"And Sheriff Keller," Johnny supplied. Information they already knew.

"We're Mary and Fred Serpents?" Jughead asked, sitting down next to Betty.

"They hung around a lot, but no," Johnny said.

"What about Keller?" Jughead asked.

"Keller was a wanna be. We never did let him in. That's why he comes down on us so hard. He's still jealous."

"Do you know what Goldhead is?" Betty questioned.

Johnny's demeanor went from slacked and uninterested to engaged, spine straightened as he sat up and leaned forward, elbows on table, his half lidded eyes wide. He opened his mouth, but instead of saying anything, sat back again against the fake, cracked leather of the booth, crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "Can't say," he replied.

"Can't say, but you know," Betty said. She stood up, and with her palms firmly on the table, she leaned down, getting into Johnny's face. "You're going to tell us what you know about Goldhead." Her voice was firm, hard, and the sight of her being so authoritative, had Jughead hard and firm, too.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Johnny said. Johnny stood up and pushed away from the table. "We're done here."

When he tried to move past Betty, she grabbed the sleeve of his jacket, and said, "You're going to tell us what you know."

Johnny glared down at her grasp on his jacket. Jughead noticed the twitch in his stance, the slight movement for his hand. Jughead knew his tendency towards violence. "Watch it," Jughead warned him. When Betty didn't let up her hold, Jughead pressed his palm into the small of her back, trying to signal to her that was enough. But Betty didn't know when to quit.

"If you don't tell me the truth. . ." Her voice trailed off, not knowing where to take her threat.

"Come on," Jughead said, physically removing her hand from Johnny's jacket and holding it tight. "He's not going to tell us anything."

"You're underage and in my bar," Johnny said. "Don't make me call the sheriff to haul you out of here. I'd hate to see you locked up with your daddy. Maybe there's room in FP's cell for all three of you. All you Joneses are trash."

Betty lurched forward, but Jughead didn't let go of her. "Don't you dare talk about him like that!" Betty yelled as Jughead pulled her along beside him. "You're the trash!"

He hustled her out of there, but his back bristled at the insult. He wanted to argue with Johnny, to fight him, but now wasn't the time, and it's wasn't a big enough deal to spar over it. But his hands still balled into fists as Johnny smirked at them as he rounded the table and disappeared behind the bar.

Once they were at the top of the stairwell, Jughead let go of her. "What an ass," Betty said. "I thought the Serpents were supposed to look out for you. That's not looking out."

"Johnny's not really a Serpent. He used to be, but he got into a motorcyle accident a few years ago. His mind has never been the same. They let him tend bar. He can remember how to mix drinks, but next time he sees me, he won't remember my name or whose son I am."

"Speaking of your dad, we should go talk to him. He'll tell us what Goldhead is," Betty said and Jughead agreed.

"But first, we need to look at the surveillance footage and see if we can recognize who picked up Eric."

As they stepped into the basement, the mantel of Jason's murder weighed heavily on him. Keeping their eyes off the red copper stain on the cement floor, they quickly walked through the room where Jason drew his last breath. Before they could make it to the stairs that lead out of the Whyte Wyrm, they ducked into the small office where they'd looked through the filing cabinet.

Jughead sat down at the desk and booted up an old desktop computer. Once it started, he toggled over to the file marked video surveillance, and opened it. The folder was empty. Next he clicked on the camera icon. A screen popped up, but instead of a live feed of the parking lot and various other spots, the screens were all filled with static.

"What a surprise," Jughead said. "Nothing here." He sighed as he pushed away from the desk and stood up.

Betty scooted around him and sat down at the desk herself.

"I told you that you aren't going to find a roster with your mom's name on it. What are you looking for now?" Jughead asked as she opened the large bottom desk drawer. It was empty.

"Not sure," she replied. She sat down on the swivel chair. In the top middle drawer, three black pens rolled around as she opened. And a dented, scuffed chrome flask sat in the back far corner.

"He has hiding places everywhere," Jughead said, picking it up. He threw it into the wastebasket. "I'd find them all over the house, tucked beneath the bench seat in the truck. Hell, I even found one in the mailbox once. And always in this damn office." Resting his palms against the edge of the desk, he ducked his head. FP had come so far, done so much to redeem himself, but the bad memories outweighed the good. Maybe they always would. Betty placed a hand on his hunched shoulders. "I fucking hate this place. I have so many horrible memories here."

"Want to make a better one?"

He didn't turn around, but he heard the Serpent jacket hit the floor, and then the rustling of clothes being rearranged. Her arms snaked around his waist. Her hand moved to the front of his jeans, her palm rubbing against him, making him stiffen at her touch.

She removed his jacket, and then pushed up his shirt until it came off over his head. Her naked breasts pressed against his back. And suddenly he so hard it hurt. He spun around, moving her with him until they had changed positions. She slipped her fingers through his hair, bringing him closer, but when he tried to kiss her, she shook her head. He started to ask her what was wrong, but when he saw that little spark of mischief in her eyes and when her hand started to push his head down, he knew what she wanted.

He unsnapped the jeans, yanked them down her legs, and pushed her shoulders until she sat down on the desktop, her ass plopping down soundly. Spreading her thighs apart, Jughead went down on his knees, and he wasted no time. His lips weren't gentle as he kissed her, his tongue delving deep. He smiled against her inner thigh when she moaned. He kept his mouth in place, but his fingers joined in on the fun, stroking from the inside as his lips worked without. Betty's fingers fed through his hair, so tightly that yank against his scalp, but he didn't stop what he was doing to her. Her thighs pressed into his ears as her hips bucked forward and she came against his mouth.

As he rose to his feet, she leaned back against the wall behind the desk. Her bare breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, her nipples taunt with arousal. He wanted to give her time to recover, but seeing her like this, so debauched and wanton, he couldn't wait any longer.

Knowing it was coming, but not expecting him so soon, she gasped when he thrust into her. He pulled back a little too make sure she was okay with this, and she was. She scrambled for him, grabbing his ass and drawing him in deeper, forcing him higher. She moved in unison with him, her knees up around his ribs as he pumped into her.

After, when they silently dressed, he knew this is what he would always remember we he stopped inside this office. That he wouldn't think of FP passed out or being alone, but of being between Betty's thighs, teasing and tasting her, making her sign, making love to her.

Jughead stayed silent as they drove to visit FP at the police station. But once they were parked he asked, "Feel like giving me a good memory of this place, too?" Jughead asked.

Betty giggled. "Think we'd get arrested if I give you a blow job in the police station parking lot?"

Jughead chuckled. "I don't know. We can't get into trouble if we don't get caught."

Once they were inside the waiting area of Riverdale's police station, Jughead wiped his damp hands on the front of his jeans, adjusted the collar of his flannel shirt, and straightened his beanie. Betty stayed next to him as he eased his way up to the receptionist window and cleared his throat. Carol the receptionist knew him by sight and ignored him most of the time.

"Excuse me," Jughead said, but Carol kept her back to him, reading the romance novel.

Betty placed a reassuring hand on his back, moved him aside, and stepped in front of him. "Hey, Carol!" Betty called over to her, loud enough that a few other people also turned around. The white haired receptionist came up to the window. "We're here to see FP."

Carol peered them over the top of her book, and said, "FP isn't allowed any visitors today."

Betty tightened her ponytail, and leaned over the counter to whisper,"Listen, Carol, we're going to see Mr. Jones."

Jughead stood a little behind his girlfriend, studying her. When she was so determined, she looked a lot like Alice-even more like the picture they'd found because Betty was also wearing a Southside Serpent's jacket. Jughead would never admit to Betty the resemblance, but it made him chuckle to himself.

"Sheriff Keller said no visitors," Carol replied.

"I don't care what Keller said," Betty replied. "My mom told me that she saw you at the last AA meeting at church. She was volunteering as a peer mentor. She said you were pulled over for drunk driving on the Southside, but were able to talk the officer out of arresting you. I think Sheriff Keller would find it interesting that."

Carol grabbed Betty's hands that were resting on the counter. "Please," she said. "Don't say anything."

"Not a word. Cross my heart and hope to die," Betty said. She used her pointer finger to draw an X over her chest.

Carol glanced behind her, to the hallway that lead to the holding cells. "Family only," Carol said, looking at Jughead directly.

Jughead stepped up next to his girlfriend, placed a hand on her shoulder. "Betty is family," he said.

Betty tried to keep her serious face, but Jughead noticed her briefly slip into a smile when he called her family.

"Fine. Fine," Carol said.

Jughead took Betty's hand as they walked through the maze of people and desks behind the reception counter. Neither of them listened when one of the officers called out to them to stop. Jughead rounded the corner. He opened his mouth to call out a greeting to his father, only stop short at what he saw.

FP's cell was empty. His father was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Betty felt Jughead’s body go slack. She tried holding him up, but she couldn't support his weight so she eased him to the floor, his back against the bars of FP’s cell. 

“He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead,” Jughead mumbled. He rocked himself slightly, his head down. This was a fear Jughead had shared with her before. He was terrified his dad wouldn't survive in jail. “They killed him and I never got to tell him that I love him.”

“No,” Betty said firmly. “No, that’s not what happened.” The truth was he could be right, but Betty refused to believe it. There had to be a simple explanation. 

Jughead continued to whisper to himself, and he was crying now, rocking back and forth harder. For a moment, Betty was taken off guard at what to do. Lately he’d been the one comforting her. But because of that, she knew what he needed from her. A calming, supportive presence. She kneeled in front of him, and when he didn’t acknowledge her, she took his face in her hands.

“Jug,” she said softly. He didn’t respond. “Juggie.” Her voice was more firm this time, drawing his attention to her. She brushed some of his dark hair out of his eyes, and he looked up at her. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m going to find out what happened. Okay?”

He nodded. “I can’t lose him, Betty. I can’t.”

“You won’t. I promise. I’ll be right back.” He nodded again as she kissed him on the top of his crown beanie. She moved back through the maze of tightly packed desks to where Carol sat at the receptionist area. Carol’s back was turned and she was on the phone. Impatient Betty almost plucked the receiver from Carol’s hands and hung up the phone, but decided against it when she realized Carol might be on an important life-threatening call. This was the Riverdale police department, after all. Even if the police force was a joke, Carol still could be dealing with something important. 

Once Carol hung up the phone, Betty tapped her on the shoulder. “Where's FP?”

Carol turned around. “What do you mean? He's in his cell. Where else would he be?” 

“He's not there. The cell is empty.”

Her eyes widened. “No, it's not,” Carol said. She shut her romance novel and placed it in her desk drawer. “I know he’s there. He had a visitor not an hour ago. Then Keller told me not to allow anyone else to see him today.” Carol spun around in her chair again and started typing on her computer. “That's impossible. No one leaves the jail cells without me knowing. I do all the discharges.” A black screen with green lettering popped up. She typed in Forsythe Pendleton Jones II. The word Transferred blinked at them. “I don't get it. I'm the only one authorized to release prisoners.”

“Does it say where he was transferred?” Betty asked.

“No. Pending,” she replied. 

“How do prisoners get transferred? By bus? Van?”

“Usually a US Marshall escorts them. But none have come in today.”

“Unless. . . Unless Sheriff Keller went behind my back and moved him.” Betty said. 

Carol grimaced as she picked up the phone. “I'm going to make some calls.”

“Okay, I'm going to check on Jughead. Let me know what you find out.” Betty turned to go back to her boyfriend, but stopped. “Thank you, Carol.”

A stunned Carol looked up at her. “You're welcome. I tried not to, but I like FP. I really do. Thirty years ago he broke my daughter Sheila's heart, and I held onto a grudge. But he was just a kid. So is Jughead. I'll find out where his dad is.”

Betty smiled at her and turned on her heels. She found Jughead where she'd left him, his back against the bars, his head in his hands, rocking himself gently. She sat beside him and put her arm around his shoulder. His cheeks were damp with tears.

Her heart lurched. Jughead had been through so much. Why this too? “FP is fine,” Betty said. “They just moved him.”

“He's not dead?” he said. Fresh tears were brimming his eyes. Betty shook her head. “But where is he?”

“We're finding out.”

He rested his head on her shoulder. “I have to tell him I love him,” he said. 

“He knows, Jug.”

“But I want to tell him.”

“And you will.” He tilted his head up and kissed her cheek.

“Excuse me,” Carol said as she came through the door to the cells. She had a file folder and a clipboard in one hand and a steaming cup of coffee in the other. 

Using the cuff of his jacket, Jughead dried his cheeks as he got to his feet and took the cup of coffee Carol offered him. “What did you find out?” He was so calm, so steady. You'd never know that he had just feared that his dad was dead. That he'd just been shaking and crying.

“Keller signed off on your dad's transfer to the state prison, which doesn't make since because no judge ordered the move.” 

Jughead opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He turned away from them and went to the bar-covered window, leaned his palms against the windowsill, and stared out the foggy glass. When he stayed silent, Betty asked. “Can we go visit him?” 

“You'd have to speak with his lawyer,” Carol said. “She might be able to arrange something.”

She handed Betty the clipboard and pointed to Keller’s signature. “See. Sheriff Keller signed Mr. Jones out not even an hour ago. It'll take some time for FP to get processed. They won't allow visits yet, but maybe Mary Andrews can do something for you.”

Betty read over the record of who been in and out to see FP over the last week. When Carol saw that Betty was studying it, she tried to take it back. “That's supposed to be for the police department only,” Carol said. 

Betty didn't listen and Carol didn’t try to take it from her. Betty turned away from Carol and kept reading. Jughead, Fred, Mary, someone named Stanley Simpson. “Who's Stanley?”

“People call him Snake for some reason.” Carol's nose was scrunched up in disgust.

Betty scanned the list again, and saw something she'd missed before. Eric Simpson was written right above Keller. “Eric was here!” Betty explained handing the clipboard to Jughead. “Right before he called you this morning. He was here talking to your dad. That has to mean something.”

Jughead nodded. “And then Keller moved him. Eric must have come to see my dad, asked him if he knew where Snake was.”

“And then Eric vanished, along with the leader of the Serpents.”

“Eric knows about Goldhead,”Jughead said. “And he had the picture. Maybe he showed the picture to my dad.”

“And Keller saw it,” Betty said. “FP must have threatened that he'd tell everyone what Goldhead is. He must suspect that's why Fred was shot.”

“Goldhead?” Carol asked. Betty and Jughead turned to her. “Why does everyone care about Goldhead?”

“You know what Goldhead is?” Betty questioned.

“I overheard Keller on the phone arguing with someone and Goldhead came up several times, which doesn’t make since. Goldhead was a seedy dance club in the seedy Southside, but it closed twenty-five years ago.”

“Goldhead was a club?” Jughead asked. “A dance club?”

“Where is it?” Betty asked. “I’ve never heard of it.”

“I don't know where it is,” Carol replied. “I would never set foot in such a place. Anyways it closed two decades ago. The reason it closed was never clear. As far as I know, it made a lot of money for the owner.”

“So this big secret,” Jughead said. “The one that everyone is so worried about is over a dance club from the early 90’s? A dance club?”

“What secret?” Carol asked.

“Thank you for all your help, Carol,” Jughead said. “We really should be going.” He took Betty's hand and they sped walked out of the police station. They didn't speak to each other until they were inside FP’s truck.

“There must be more to it,” Betty said. “Give me your phone. I want to call Ms. Andrews so she can start working on getting us access to your dad.” Jughead handed over his cell. 

“And maybe you can use your magic and get her to tell us why she really thinks Fred got shot.”

Betty dialed Mary, and she answered on the third ring. “Mary Andrews attorney at law.”

“Ms. Andrews, it's Betty. Can Jughead and I come over? We want to talk to you about FP.”

“Oh, Betty, I wish I could, but I had to make a quick trip back to Chicago.” Flight 679 is now boarding. Betty heard announced from Mary's end. “That’s me, dear. I have to run. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Wait! But FP is--” Betty said, but it was cut off by the dial tone. When Betty called her back, the phone went straight to voicemail. Betty left a brief message telling Mary what had happened to FP and that they needed to get into see him ASAP. 

Jughead had pulled up to the Cooper's house by the time Betty gave him back his phone. Alice was waiting for them on the porch. Beside him, Betty sighed, but didn't make a move to get out of the truck. 

“Can you just keep driving?” Betty asked. “I don't know what to say to her. She's going to barrage me with a thousand questions, and I don't have any answers right now. She's going to make me go back to that quack of a psychiatrist. He'll try to put me on more meds.”

Jughead didn't know she'd been seeing a psychiatrist or that she'd been on medication. Neither of those things bothered him, but he'd keep a closer eye on her. Because he loved her, he didn't want her to be in any pain. 

“I didn't tell your mom you cut yourself,” he said. “All she knows is that you went AWOL on both of us.”

“Okay,” Betty said, wiping her palms on the jeans she was wearing. “It's not the first time I've done that. Living with Alice Cooper can be intense. Everyone in the family has taken a mental health day or two to get sometime off from her. She'll be mad, but I can handle that.”

She reached for the door, but Jughead stopped her. “Are you supposed to be on something now?” he asked. “Something to. . .” He didn't know exactly how to put it.

“Something to keep my darkness at bay?” she asked, but was smiling. He nodded. “Yeah, along with Adderall to keep my focused in school, but . . .” 

She stopped talking when Alice came off the porch and toward them. She took off the Serpent jacket and left it on the front seat beside him. Jughead stared down at the snake on the back of it, and thought about what Betty had said about him joining the Serpents. She was right. It was a good idea. He'd do it.

“I gotta go. I'll deal with my mom. Come over in about an hour and we'll both talk to her about Goldhead and see what she knows.” Betty kissed his cheek and then stepped out of the truck.

As the door shut, he expected Alice to lay into Betty, but instead, a sleep deprived Alice ran to Betty and threw her arms around her daughter, and they both held each other while they sobbed. Wanting to give them privacy, he pulled away from the curb and into the Andrews's driveway.

Hungry, he went into the kitchen, and when he flipped on the light, he jumped when he saw Archie sitting alone at the kitchen island, a bowl of cereal and milk in front of him that had turned to mush. Archie looked into nothingness and Jughead wondered just how long he'd been like this. Jughead knew he had been dealing with his own crisis of his missing girlfriend for the last twenty-four hours, but he should have at least checked on Archie. 

“Hey man. What’s up?” Placing a hand on Archie's shoulder, Jughead sat down next to his best friend, prepared to hear the worst. “Is your dad okay?”

“What?” Archie said, shaking his head. “Sorry. I zoned out. My dad is fine. I couldn’t sleep so I came down here for some cereal, and just lost track of time.”

“Worried about your dad?” Jughead asked. 

Archie squinted at him like he didn’t know what he was talking about, but them he nodded, and said, “Oh, yeah, of course I’m worried about him, but the doctor said he’d be okay.”

“Has your mom said anything?” he asked, hoping that Mary would have told him that maybe Fred’s shooting wasn’t as random as they had previously thought. Archie could give him some important info if Mary had filled her son in on what had really happened. 

“No, and she left for the airport a while ago. She has a court case she can’t miss today, and then she’ll be back.”

With Mary out of the house, Jughead could do some snooping and look for clues and maybe find some intel on Goldead. He’d call Betty and have him help her, but he needed to get Archie out of the house first. Briefly he thought about telling Archie everything he and Betty had found out, but Archie had been more of a hindrance than help when searching for Jason’s killer. And Jughead hated thinking this of his best friend, even to himself, but Archie was kind of clueless, a red-haired airhead. It was best he and Betty kept everything to themselves for now. He’d bring Archie in when they had more concrete answers. 

“Really, dude,” Jughead said, patting Archie on the back. “What's on your mind?” Jughead knew there was something else bothering his friend.

“A girl,” he replied, looking out the kitchen window towards Betty's house. 

For a moment, he worried that Archie was still hung up on Betty. She had told him that Archie had acted weird when they were alone after Veronica had made that over the top announcement that she and Archie were dating. He didn't doubt Betty's love for him. He wasn't worried about her, but about Archie. Jughead couldn't blame him. Betty wasn't someone you would ever get over. “Which girl?” Jughead asked, just to clarify. Archie had gone through at least five girls in the last few months. 

Archie scoffed. “Veronica of course. I just don't want to screw this up.”

“The only way you'll lose her is if you. . .um . . . How do I put this? Just don't--”

“Be a fuck boy?” Archie said, grimacing. At least he saw it too. Maybe Archie wasn't as clueless as he thought.

Jughead chuckled. “Well, yeah. If you like Veronica so much, don’t kiss anyone else.” Jughead regarded Archie. His shoulders were tense. “There's something else, isn't there?”

“I think I'm in love with Veronica.” Archie's face was down turned. 

“And? What's wrong with that?”

“I'm happy and I feel bad. My dad is in the hospital, recovering from getting shot. I mean, he almost died, and I can't stop smiling whenever I think about Veronica.”

“No, man, it's good you have something. Someone. Betty's made all the difference “

“You love her, and she loves you,” Archie said. “Man, the way she looks at you. not You're so lucky. You both are. To have found each other. I think I've always known you two would end up together. You've loved her since we were kids. She's loved you too. It's awesome dude.” He clapped Jughead so hard on the back that it stung a little. “I hope Veronica and I can have something like you two have some day.”

“You will. Why don’t you go see her now.” He glanced at the digital clock on the oven. “Her mom will be at work by now. I’m sure she has a lot going on with Fred being out. Go see her.”

“You're right!” Archie declared. “I'm going to go make out with my girlfriend.”

“You do that,” Jughead said. 

As Archie pulled on his sweatshirt, Jughead cleared away the overflowing bowl of cereal. After Archie left, Jughead locked the front door and went upstairs. On the way, he texted Betty that he was going to look around the Andrews’s house for clues. There wasn’t much of interest in Fred’s room, at least if you didn’t count the picture of Mary in the nightstand drawer and the pair of leather pants hanging in the closet. Neither of those things connected him to Goldhead or to the Serpents. The pants, maybe? But Jughead doubted it. It was probably a part of a forgotten Halloween costume. He couldn't see straight laced Fred Andrews involved with a biker gang.

At least Fred’s home office yielded much more pertinent information. In the back of the filing cabinet, Jughead found a thin folder with the label Goldhead on it. His hand shook as he opened the file. He thought he'd find maybe the deed to the dance club Goldhead, but instead he found an obituary on a yellowing newspaper clipping from the Riverdale Register. Even though it didn't mean anything to him, Jughead read it.

January 15, 1992, Michael James, Riverdale commercial property owner and Chamber of Commerce representative, was burned alive in his cabin in the secluded Eversgreen Forest, near Sweetwater River. It is not clear how the fire started yet, but it has been ruled as an accident. Mr. James was 87 as of last Sunday, and at one time owned all property located on either side of Main Street in the Southside. He has no surviving relatives. 

Jughead flipped over the article, hoping to actually find something useful, but all that was on the other side was a twenty-five year old ad for Tide detergent. What did this old guy have to do the Goldhead? Maybe at one time he owned the Whyte Wyrm since he owned property in the Southside? What the hell even was Goldhead? Carol could have been wrong. Maybe the Whyte Wyrm never was named anything else. But there was something he could do that might aid in their search. Using Fred's office computer, he entered the guy's name into the public records search. 

Michael James owned several pieces of property in Southside, Riverdale, and a plot of land out by Sweetwater. Nothing unusual, nothing that screamed controversy. He saved a screenshot of the public records and took a picture of the obituary to show Betty later. Maybe she could put it all together. He put the file back, and left Fred's bedroom.

After realizing it'd been more than a day since he'd showered and shaved, he spent some time getting cleaned up. He combed his wet hair, but left his cap off as he dressed.He checked his phone, but Betty hadn't responded to his last text. She was probably still in the thick of it with Alice and hadn't had a chance. He'd give her a few more minutes before he checked on her. For now, he'd take the time to look for information on Goldhead, and he thought he'd check the garage. Fred purchased this house not too long after all of them had graduated high school, not that long after whatever Goldhead was happened. When he came into the garage, he was taken back to the last time he was here with FP, when his dad was still drunk, but had just started to turn his life around. 

What if he never saw FP again? Jughead sat down on the couch and buried his head in his hands. He had the thought to look around the garage for clues, but got distracted when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and read a text from Alice. 

I need to take Polly to the doctor. She's having some small contractions. I don't want to worry Betty, so I didn't tell her where we went. She's taking a bath. Can you please come sit with her while we're gone?

Of course the answer was yes. After he replied to Alice, he walked next door. Without knocking, he went inside the Cooper's house. He called out to Betty, and when she didn't answer, he raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. As he pushed open the bathroom door, he thought of the Betty he'd found last night, alone, freezing, lost, bloody. But the steam-filled bathroom was empty. 

“Betty!” he yelled.

He came into the hallway and ran right into her. She was dressed only in a soft terry cloth robe, her hair wet, her feet bare. She held her cell phone in her hand, earbuds in her ears.

“Juggie!” she examined. “Why are you in my bathroom? Why are you yelling?”

With both his hands resting on her shoulders, he stood in front of her, looking down at her, trying to control his breathing, to reign in his fears. When he'd rushed into the bathroom and ripped open the shower curtain, he was so afraid that he'd find her submerged in a shallow tub, her wrists slit, the tepid water tinged a pale red.

He gathered her in his arms and held her against his chest, kissed the top of her head. “I love you,” he said, his voice catching. 

“Juggie, what's wrong?” she asked.

He didn't respond. He never stopped kissing her as he hoisted her up and carried her to her bedroom. He didn't dwell on what he thought he might find in the bathroom when she didn't answer him. At that moment, all he knew was that she was okay, they were alive, and they loved each other. Sure things were shitty as they had always been for him, but he had her, and she made all the difference. 

“My mom and Polly are home,” Betty said as Jughead kicked the door closed and locked it.

“I saw them leave.” He set her down and undid the tie of her robe. His hands slid past the opening in the fabric, his palms skimming over the softness of her hips, to the roundness of her ass. Impatient now, he tugged her closer, tighter. One of her legs hitched up, her knee around his waist. A moan buzzed through her throat as he kissed her neck. The fear of finding her in the bathroom dead was leaving him. She was here with him, her skin warm and full of color, of life. 

Just thinking of that lively body, he wanted to touch his fill of her so he set her down, her feet sinking into the carpet. He widened the gap in her robe, but did not remove it. The peaks of her breasts were still concealed by the fabric, but her nipples were beaded up, visible and arousing. His hand moved between the valley of her breasts, down the center of her ribs, and disappeared into the downy softness of her sex. His fingers swirled around her core. She was warm and wet and pliable. She rocked back and forth, grinding herself against the top of his palm. He continued to stroke her as his lips and tongue brushed against her neck, caressed her breast, touched and kissed any part of her that he could. Feeling her getting close, he increased the friction, kept up the rhythm she liked. Betty tilted her head up for a kiss, but her lips never made contact with his because she was too busy whimpering and moaning and chanting his name. She rested her head against his chest and he held her up by the waist because her legs didn’t look so steady. 

After she composed herself, she looked up at him and smiled. “I think you asked me for something in the police station parking lot that I couldn’t deliver at the time. I can deliver now,” she said, grinning at him. Biting her lip, Betty dropped to her knees and unbuckled his belt. Her tongue rounded the tip of him, lavishing it, as her fingers encircled his shaft, shifting up and down. How did her pretty like mouth know how to do such bad things? How did her slender hands become so skilled at making him crazy? She stopped what she was doing for a second, and when he opened his eyes to see why, she smiled up and him, and then drew him into her wet mouth, deep. The head of him hit the back of her throat, but that didn't stop her.

He had to be inside her. Right then. Right now. Just to feel how alive she was. How alive she made him feel. He hauled her up by her elbows. Bringing Betty with him, he fell back, landing on the window seat. Her knees bracketed his hips as she rose up and down on him, her untied robe floating behind her like a soft, pink cape. For balance on the narrow window seat, she placed her palms on the glass behind him on either side of his head, giving him an unobstructed view of her breasts. He held onto her hips, guiding her. Her inner walls tightened around him, milking him. As she came again, he decided that he would happily die here, deep inside of the girl he loved. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she collapsed into him, laying her head on his shoulder. 

After giving himself time to recover, he stood and brought her with him to the bed, where they peeled back the quilt and snuggled up together among the lacy, rose colored pillows. 

“I hope Archie didn’t look out his bedroom window and see us,” Betty said, hiding her face in his arm, giggling. 

He glanced over to the window. “I guess we have the neighbors quite a show. But Archie's not there. He's at Veronica’s house.”

She looked up at him, her green eyes searching for something in him, but he wasn't sure. “You seemed so worried earlier when you met me in the hall. Why?” Betty asked.

He brushed her damp hair away from her forehead and kissed it. “I know you said that you’re okay now, and I believe you, but when you didn’t answer. . . I thought. . . I can’t forget finding you at the drivein, how lost you looked, how pale and hollowed out, and honestly it scared me. But only because I love you so much. I don’t want to see you in pain.”

“I'm fine. Really. Please don't worry about me.” 

“I'll always worry about you. That's my job as your boyfriend.”

“I love you, Jughead Jones.” 

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” he replied. 

Her phone, which now sat on her nightstand buzzed. She yourself it over and lit up the screen. “I thought it might be my mom, but it's just an email notification,” she said. 

“How did things go with her, by the way?” 

“Okay, but she says I have to stay taking my meds again again.”

“How do you feel about that?”

She shrugged a naked shoulder. She still had the robe on, but hadn’t tied it. Her breasts were present, perky and pink. He wanted her again. Right that second, and wondered how long it would be until his body would oblige him again. 

“Maybe she’s right,” Betty said. But then she selected her unread texts from him. “You were searching the Andrews's house?”

“Yeah. Didn’t find much. Honestly I don’t really know what we’re looking for.”

“I do,” she said. “You distracted me early.” She ran her hand over his chest, down to his sex, which had already started to harden again. “I talked to my mom. I know what Goldhead is.”


	6. We're All Crazy

“What!?” Jughead asked, sitting up fast, almost knocking Betty off of the bed and onto the floor. 

She sat up, too, pulled on her robe, and tied it around herself. She stood up and went over to her dresser and picked up an old photo album from Alice’s senior year and handed it to him. “After my mom gave birth to my secret brother, she and my dad broke up briefly, and she fell in love with Snake.”

“So was your mom a Serpent?” Jughead asked. He got up, got dressed, and put his beanie back on. He sat on the window seat and rested his elbows on his knees, a stance she knew usually meant he was thinking, piecing together information into a story that made sense. 

“Not exactly. Turns out my mom was from the Southside-just one of the many secrets she kept from me. Remember when we were in kindergarten and had to write a report on our mothers? She told me she was born and raised here in Riverdale, even showed me the house where she said she grew up.”

“That was the first time you had to read something out loud in class,” Jughead said. “Reggie Mantle laughed at you when you accidentally said your mom was the homecoming king instead of queen. He made you cry.”

She smiled, recalling the memory. “And I ran into the girls’ bathroom. You found me and sat with me while I cried. You told me my article was the best thing ever written. And then you punched Reggie in the mouth during recess.” She had forgotten until now, but Jughead remembered. He remembered everything. “You were the first kindergartner at Riverdale Elementary to ever get suspended.” She sat down next to him on the window seat. 

“First and only,” he said. “I told you that I've loved you my entire life.”

She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in for a kiss. “I love you,” she said.

He grinned at her before going back to the topic at hand. “So Alice and Hal were Riverdale High’s retro Romeo and Juliet? Rich boy falls for a girl from the wrong side of the tracks.”

Betty flipped the photo album open and showed him a few more pictures of Alice and Snake. “They didn't last long, she said. Just a little rebellion before Alice fully committed to my dad.”

“So that Romeo and Juliet end up together,” Jughead said.

“But my parents aren't happy. They pretend to be, but they aren't. You make me happy, Jug.”

“Ditto,” he said. “So what is Goldhead? What did your mom say?”

“As far as she knows, it really was a dance club where they all used to hang out, but it was beneath the Whyte Wyrm. Kinda a speak-easy of the 90s. High school kids could drink. Some did drugs. The owner looked the other way and let the kids engage in whatever debauchery they wanted. They only let Keller come because his dad was the original Sheriff Keller, and they thought if young Keller was with them that the Riverdale Police Department wouldn’t bother them.”

“In the basement,” Jughead said. “What happened there twenty-five years ago?”

Betty shrugged. “She swears she has no idea. After she and Snake broke up, she slipped into a depression. With having to put my brother up for adoption and losing who she said was the love of her life, it was too much for her. She finished up her senior year at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy.”

“So she has no idea what the secret is that got Fred shot?” he asked.

Betty shook her head. “No idea. We need to find out who else was in that picture that Eric has. Should we go talk to Fred?” Betty suggested. “I mean, he's the one who was shot, after all. Maybe he'll tell us why.”

“Yeah. Let's do that. But there's something I want to show you first.” He pulled out his phone and showed her a screenshot of the article he’d found in Fred’s files. 

She read it and then said, “So? What does an obituary about an old man have to do with anything?”

“I found it in a file labeled Goldhead,” Jughead said. “I think this guy used to own the Whyte Wyrm.”

“So we have a shooting, this old, dead man, a 90’s dance club, and a secret shared by seven people, and we still don't know who two of those people are. We don't know much anything. It's just a few random clues. What if they don't mean anything or aren’t even related?”

“That's never stopped us before. You'll figure it out.”

“We will. Together.” 

He stood up and offered her his hand. “Let’s make a trip to the hospital.”

They found Fred asleep in his hospital bed, hooked up to machines regulating his vitals, his breathing rough and shallow. The hollows of his cheeks sunken in, his skin yellowish in tint. His usual stubble was a full beard now. His wheeled serving tray was pulled up to his bed, over his lap. The warming lid still covered Fred's uneaten food, and surrounding it was small folded up pieces of paper with cramped, unreadable lettering the serving tray.

Jughead eased into the seat next Fred's bed, and took the man's hand in his. Betty stood back and watched them--Jughead and his stand-in father, the man who had loved and protected him when his real family had written him off. Jughead didn't let people in easily, but when he did, it was for life. If Fred didn't pull through, and if with FP locked up in a federal prison, Jughead stood to lose both his fathers, the only family he had left. She squeezed his shoulder, kissed him on his temple. He'd always have her. 

“I love you,” she whispered. 

He rested his hand on hers, his fingers tightening around hers. “I love you, Betts.” His head tilted as he kissed her.

He loved her. Everything was good between them. Then why was it still there, looming over her like a thick black cloud, blocking out the light, weighing her down. Her emotions went slack, her vision tunneled. She grabbed ahold of the back of his chair. How long would it be before he stopped loving her? Until he no longer wanted her as a part of his family? How long until he saw her for the fucked up girl she really was. Jughead Jones had enough to deal with in his life. Why would he want to deal with the mess that was Betty Cooper? She had been such an idiot. Why did she leave herself so vulnerable? Why was she like this? She was worthless, stupid, unable to control her own mind. 

She glanced at the sink next to Fred's bed, to the drawers and cabinets, and wondered if there was a hidden scalpel, maybe Fred's shaving kit. She didn't deserve Jughead. She did deserve anything. Her fingers curled into her palm, sinking into her flesh. The biting pain was grounding, euphoric. She squeezed harder, felt her skin sliced, break open, and she signed.

“Betts? Betty?”

Her eyes focused and Jughead was standing right in front of her, hands on her shoulders, leaning his head down. His eyes were the blue of a summer sky after a storm. He was her anchor, a reason to step back into the light. Wanting to hide the shame of her self-harm, Betty shoved her hands into the pocket of her coat. But Jughead knew. He knew her. He pulled her hands out and uncurled her fingers. 

“Betty. . .” he said gently, his mouth turned down. “What’s wrong?” He kissed the fresh wounds on her palms. 

She didn't want to tell him. There was nothing wrong, not really, just her own irrational fears plaguing her. She could trust him. He wouldn't judge her. She could tell him anything. She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the hospital room door swung open.

But it wasn't a nurse who interrupted them. “Visiting hours are over,” said a man dressed in a silvery blue suit that looked like it cost more than her mother's station wagon. He was probably in his mid-forties, tanned skin, black hair slicked back from his face, and dark brown eyes that were unlined with wrinkles. She'd seen those eyes before. 

In protective mode, he stepped in front of Betty. She still held onto his hand, but everything was steady now.“Who are you?” Jughead asked, squinting at the man. 

“Hiram Lodge,” Betty said. She'd seen his framed pictures in Veronica's bedroom.

“I thought you were in jail,” Jughead said.

Hiram flashed his straight, pearly whites at them. “Out for good behavior,” he replied. He unbuttoned his suit jacket and sat down in the chair Jughead had just vacated. “Maybe I should send my lawyer your father's way. Pro Bono, of course. I know the Joneses haven't been as financially blessed as the Lodges have.” 

Jughead’s body stiffened, and he took a step forward, so Betty clutched his hand, keeping him next to her, keeping him from a fight he should not get involved in right now.

“Does Veronica know your home?” Betty asked. This time, she stepped in front of Jughead, shielding him. 

“Oh, yes,” Hiram chuckled. “Meet her jock, red-headed boyfriend, too. I got to know him a little too well, if you know what I mean. Betty, you must tell your best friend to lock her bedroom door when she has a male friend over. You know, like you do with FP’s kid.” He cocked his head towards Jughead. “Some things are best kept a secret, like your white trash boyfriend here.”

“Who the hell do you think you are?” Betty asked. She reached behind herself and held Jughead back. What was wrong with people in this town? If Riverdale was full of snobs who judged a teenager boy on who his parents were and how much money they had, she would happily move to the Southside with him and never look back. 

“I’m Hiram Lodge. I own this town and I think it’s time to take out the trash.”

Betty didn’t remember making the move, but she was suddenly attacking Hiram, her hands wrapped around his throat, her fingers pressing in, his tendons popping. She had pushed him against the wall next to Fred’s bed. Her ears rang, almost drowning out Jughead yelling her name, clawing at her, trying to get her to let go of Hiram. His dark brown eyes were wide, bugging out of his head, bloodshot and red. 

“Oh my god,” Betty said, her hands dropping at her side as she realized what she’d done. Jughead grabbed her around the waist and hauled her out of the room as a nurse rushed in. Jughead dropped her to her feet, but kept her upright by holding on to both of her elbows.

“Betty! Betty!” Jughead repeated until she looked at him. “Are you okay?” She nodded, and he guided her down the corridor, to the back stairway, and out of the hospital exit. Her hands shook as she fastened her seat belt while Jughead cranked over the truck’s engine.

“Where are we going?” Betty asked. 

“I don’t know. Away from here.”

“I choked him,” Betty said, looking down at her balled up fists. Her fingernails were digging into her skin again, cutting into the fresh wounds. “I . . . I don’t know how. . . He was saying horrible things to you, Jughead. I couldn’t let him hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” he said. He reached across the seat and placed his hand over her fist. “It’s okay. You just need some time to calm down, a place where we can be alone for a little while.” 

As they drove, Betty concentrated on the clock radio in the dashboard, watching the green analog numbers, the seconds clicking past. It wasn’t even seven in the morning and already she was so exhausted. Why had she reacted that way to what Hiram had said? Yes, Mr. Lodge was rude and out of line, but that didn’t make what she had done okay. Shit, what if he pressed charges? What if he called her mom and told her what she’d done? She was crazy. Just like her mother, just like her sister, just like every other person in her family. Betty Cooper was the queen of the crazies. Betty sighed in relief when Jughead passed her neighborhood and went over the railroad tracks to the Southside. He parked the truck in front of the trailer and helped her out.

“I’m so tired, Juggie,” she said as they walked in the door. Hot Dog came up to greet her. He licked her hand, and then she rubbed his head.

“Go lay down,” Jughead said. “I’ll make some breakfast.” He kissed her forehead and scooted her off down the hall. Hot Dog followed him into the kitchen. 

He didn’t ask her why she’d done what she did. Or if she was nuts. As always, he was kind and gave her space when she needed it. She laid down on the bed, pulled the thin covers up over her face, and closed her eyes. But sleep didn’t come. Instead flashes of Hiram Lodge, gasping for air jolted her awake. It was no use. She couldn’t quiet her mind enough to allow her to rest. 

Jughead was in the kitchen, but he wasn’t standing in front of the stove frying bacon. Instead he sat at the kitchen table, looking over small folded up pieces of paper. The ones that had been sitting on the tray next to Fred’s uneaten dinner in the hospital room.

“When did you take those?” she asked. Jughead jolted when he heard her voice, but relaxed when he looked up at saw her leaning against the doorjamb.

“Right before Hiram came in,” he said. “I told you about it, but you didn't register that I was talking. You were staring off into nothingness.” 

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry that your girlfriend is crazy.”

He turned his face up to her and he took her hands in his. “No, Betty, you’re not crazy.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he wouldn’t let her. “You’re not.”

“I just choked my best friend’s dad. I throw birthday parties that no one wants. I gouged my fingernails into my palms so hard that I have scars. I cut myself last night. And there are times that I’m so weighed down by it, by the darkness or whatever you want to call it, that I can’t move, can’t speak, can’t breathe.”

“We’re all crazy,” he said, smiling, trying to lighten the mood. It was what he’d said to her the first time he kissed her. Back then, he didn’t realize just how serious she was about worrying over her sanity. When he could tell she wanted to keep this conversation serious, his demeanor changed. He palmed her cheek, his eyes wide and loving. “Elizabeth Cooper, you are not crazy. I love you just the way you are. There is nothing wrong with you.”

“But there is,” she replied. As much as Jughead wanted to looked past her mental illness, to only see the good, she knew she couldn’t. There was danger in ignoring the signs she knew were there. “I think my mom is right. I need to be back on my medication.”

“Then start taking it again. There’s nothing wrong with it.”

“I can’t get control of this on my own and it makes me feel weak. I don’t like the stigma attached. I know I hate the word perfect, but that’s still how I want most of the world to see me. I don’t want people to know.”

“But no one will know. And medication doesn’t make you weak. If you had a broken arm, and your doctor said you needed to wear a cast to repair the bone, you wouldn’t say nah, it’ll heal up on its own. You can’t will a broken limb to set itself. Getting help isn’t weakness, but a strength."

Everything he said made sense, but she still didn’t like the idea of medication. While it helped regulate her moods, sometimes it made her feel nothing at all. But wasn’t numbness better than overwhelming sadness, better than choking Hiram Lodge or trying to drown Riverdale’s football captain in a hot tub? She nodded in agreement with him. “I’ll refill my prescription.” She opened the drug store app on her phone and did just that. The pills would be ready in about half an hour. 

She looked back to Jughead and the papers he was studying. She turned one over in her hand, trying to make out the chicken scratch. “What does it mean?”

He shrugged. “Dunno. I needed you to help make sense of it.”

She sat down next to him and spread all the pieces out on the table. Nothing stood out. She shuffled the papers, moving them around in a different order. Nothing. She tried again and stared down at them for a few minutes while Jughead went to the stove and started pulling out frying pans. As he bumped around in the kitchen, the papers started to make sense. Each paper had one word written on it, but only one letter on each was really legible. She rearranged the pieces once more, and finally the letters formed a word. 

“S-W-E-E-T-W-A-T-E-R. Sweetwater,” she said. 

“Sweetwater River?” Jughead asked. He turned down the burner and came over to look over her shoulder. 

“Only one letter on each paper stands out. It spells Sweetwater.”

“You’re so smart, Betts.” But then he pointed to the five extra papers she hadn’t added in. “What about those?” he asked. He placed all the pieces beneath the others and they both stood back. “Cabin! Those spell cabin.”

Betty touched each lettered piece of paper. “So Fred wanted us to know something about a cabin in Sweetwater?” she asked. “What about it?”

Jughead snapped his fingers, pulled out his phone, and then he showed her a picture of the article he’d told her about. “This obituary I found in Fred’s files said that Michael James died in a cabin on Sweetwater River. And he owned properties on the Southside.” Jughead went over to the hook where his messenger bag hung and took out his laptop. He brought up the public records search page online and looked up Michael James. He had several properties listed. “Look! He owns a piece of unincorporated land on Sweetwater. That has to be the cabin.”

Betty read the list, too. “And that’s the address for the Whyte Wyrm. All properties were in his name until 1992. Then they were sold to Hector Lodge at Lodge Industries. That has to be Veronica’s grandfather.”

“Hiram was right. The Lodges do own this whole damn town. They’ve spent generations buying up land. I’m sure they saw that Michael James didn’t have any living relatives at the time of his death and bought the Whyte Wyrm on the cheap.”

“Do the Lodges still own the Whyte Wyrm?” Betty asked.

With a few strokes on his keyboard, Jughead had the answer. “No. Public record says that some comowns it now. FAL, LLC.”

Betty took that info in, but it didn’t mean anything to her. “So maybe Goldhead, aka the Whyte Wyrm, has nothing to do with anything. Maybe Goldhead is just code for something else. We don’t really know anything.”  
“There has to be a connection. What does this old guy, the Whyte Wyrm, and seven pesky teenagers have in common?” Jughead asked. 

“I have no idea,” Betty replied. Her brain was so foggy from exhaustion that she was having trouble thinking. “We need to get in touch with your dad.”

“Or go to the cabin where Michael James was killed.”

“But it burned down,” Betty said. 

“Doesn’t mean there isn’t anything there for us to find.”

“I guess you’re right.” She caught the smell of something charing on the stovetop. “Your pancakes are burning.”

“Oh, shit!” he said, getting up and going over to the stove. He scraped the blackened pancake into the trash. “I guess we know who the real cook is in this family.” 

He turned back to the bowl of pancake mix and stirred it. He hadn’t even realized he’d called her family, and maybe that meant more than if he’d said it intentionally. She knew they were way too young, but she couldn’t see her future without him. One day after college, they’d have their own kitchen to make breakfast in. Their own house, children, a life together that would never be separated. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his shoulder. But then she caught sight of the lumpy disaster that was the pancake mix. She took the bowl and whisk out of his hands. 

“Let me help you,” she said and went to work. Within a few minutes, she had fluffy pancakes stacked on a plate for him, and she joined him at the table.

Knife and fork in hand, he grinned at her. “Sorry to sound antiquated and a little masochistic, but damn, woman, you can cook!” He took a bite and sighed. “I would have loved you even if you couldn’t, but I’m happy you can.” He ate the entire dish without taking a break, and then leaned back in his chair. She stood up and took his plate, but he stopped her. “I’ll do the dishes,” he said. 

“Shall we go look around a creepy, deserted forest for the remains of a dead man?” Betty asked. 

“I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Saturday,” he said. “Or maybe I could.” He tugged gently on her hand until she landed on his lap. He nuzzled against her neck, kissed her thin skin and then drew it between his teeth. “You taste good.” He worked his hand in between their bodies, up the skirt she was wearing. His fingers slipped up her thigh and ducked underneath the elastic of her panties. “You know what else tastes good.” He stood up and set her on the table, knocking off her plate of unfinished pancakes onto the floor. He spread her thighs apart, but before he reached his knees, her phone rang. They both froze. 

“It could be my mom,” she said. “She probably is wondering why I’m not home. I didn’t tell her where I was going.” She picked up her phone, but it wasn’t her mother. “It’s the pharmacy.” 

Even though Jughead knew what the call was about, she stepped into the hallway to listen to the recording tell her that her prescription was filled and ready. She leaned against the wall. She knew that taking the medication again was in her best interest, but it felt like a failure, a loss of control. 

Jughead came into the hallway with her, his jacket was on and he handed her the Serpent leather one. “We’ll stop at the pharmacy on the way to Sweetwater River,” Jughead said. He put the leather jacket around her shoulders and kissed her forehead. “It’ll be okay, Betts.”

A sob hitched in her throat. She curled herself into him as his arms went around her. He kissed her hair as he whispered words of reassurance to her, and after a moment, she felt balanced, and steady. She nodded against his chest and then took his hand and lead him outside to the truck. 

On the way through town, the morning sky began to blacken, dark clouds rolling in from the east. Jughead pulled into the drug store and went in with Betty. Once they were back in the truck, she unscrewed the pill bottle and washed a pill down with the bottle of water she’d purchased. As they drove to the outskirts of Riverdale, Betty closed her eyes and tried to figure out if she felt any different. But she didn't. Maybe the medicine wouldn't work anymore, the dose wrong. 

But everything around Betty went hazy as they drove toward Sweetwater River. Her emotions dulled, her limbs felt like they were packed with sand. Don’t do this, Betty. You’re fine. You are stronger than this. She repeated the words over and over again in her head, but nothing changed. Her feelings didn’t return. She was numb.

The sky rumbled with thunder, lightning crackled, sending electric ribbons through the sky. The clouds cracked open and released the rain they'd been holding as the truck jostled and jolted drove down a tree-line path toward the property address they’d found for where the cabin once was. The windshield wipers struggled to clear the rainwater from the glass. The sky had darkened so much that Jughead had to turn on the headlights to guide them. After about three miles, the trail opened up into a clearing. Address numbers were nailed to one of the trees. 

“3856 Deertail Rd,” Jughead said, reading the address. “This is it.” He hung a right and proceeded down a narrow driveway. The headlights flashed across a cabin. The structure hadn’t been well maintained. Shingles were falling off the roof, the wooden logs had splintered, but the cabin was in-tact. Jughead huffed out a breath. “It’s not burned down at all.”

Betty wanted to reply, to say something, but the words did not come. The darkness had closed her throat. She stared at the forgotten cabin. When Betty didn’t move, Jughead came around to her side, unbuckled her, and with his hand on hers, she came out of the truck. The downpour fell on them as they rushed through the front yard, the raindrops coming down with such force that they stung her skin when they hit. And it felt good, a sharp reminder that she could feel something. 

The stairs that lead up to the cabin were missing, so Jughead jumped onto the porch and pulled her up with him. Weeds had grown through the slats of the wooden porch, and a porch swing dangled from one chain. The front door wasn’t locked, but swung open when Jughead pushed on it. By some miracle, the electricity still worked. Inside the cabin consisted of a main room and was both a living room and a kitchen. Nothing had been touched in years, the cabin frozen in time, somewhere in the 80’s. Everything was a little dusty, but nothing was out of place. Jughead pulled off a sheet from the couch, dust clouding through the air for a moment. He fluffed the pillows and then set Betty down there. He must have sensed that his girlfriend was out of it. He kissed her forehead and went about searching the cabin. As lightning flashed, Betty stared at the stuffed deer head on the wall. Its fur was a golden brown, but its eyes were black, unseeing, dead. Is that how she looked to Jughead right now?

“I can’t feel anything, Juggie.” Her voice was just a whisper, but he heard her.

He turned from the bookshelf he had been going through and sat next to her. “What do you mean? Is numbness a side-effect of you medication?” He squeezed her hand. “Can you feel that?” he asked. 

“That’s not what I meant,” she said. 

She rose up and swung her leg over him, her knees resting on either side of his hips. Her lips moved against his neck as she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and unbuttoned his shirt. Bending herself down, she kissed his stomach, the middle of his chest as she pushed his shirt up and over his head. She tossed it behind the back of the couch. 

Jughead’s hands moved to the back of her neck and kissed her throat. She could feel the hardness of his arousal pressing against her inner thigh. That’s what she needed from him right now. He clawed at her shirt, struggling with the buttons until she impatiently brushed his fumbling fingers aside and removed the shirt herself. She unhooked her bra and threw it in the same direction as she’d thrown his shirt and jacket. He sat back and just looked at her for a moment, drinking her in. With both hands he reached out and cupped her breasts, squeezing and molding them. He leaned down and took one pink nipple into his mouth, sucking hard. His other hand snaked between them, his fingers slipping into the front of her panties, finding her wet and wanting, ready for him, alive with need. His fingertips circled her bud of nerve endings, sending a jolt of passion through her, making her hips buck forward. 

He surprised her when he lifted her up and plopped her to sit down on the couch. He spread her knees apart as he knelt in front of her. He pushed her skirt all the way up to her hips. His hand brushed up her thighs as he reached up and pulled her panties down until he removed them. He kissed his way up, from her calf to her inner thigh. But then he waited, stayed where he was, his mouth against the softness of her leg. She felt the rush of his breath, the slight tickle of his hair, but his lips did not touch her. Not yet. The anticipation made her impatient, alert, bustling with need. Alive.

He smiled against her inner thigh, grabbed onto her hips, and tilted her forward. His tongue was tentative at first, but not because he was shy, but because he was teasing her, building everything up inside her. His lips drew in the bud of flesh, causing her to rise up off the couch cushions a little, wanting to be closer, wanting more. His tongue darted, stocked her up and down, around in beautiful circles that made her cry out. She combed her fingers through his hair, keeping him fix against her. 

And then every fiber of her being buzzed to life. She felt more than she thought she was capable of feeling as she quivered. As she lay on the couch replete, she heard Jughead stand and readjust his clothing, and then he was inside her, filling her up. 

He thrust into her. “Can you feel that?” he asked. She shuddered and nodded her head. He slipped out and drove himself into her again, harder this time. “Can you feel that?” he repeated.

“Yes,” she replied. “Yes.”

This was what she needed. This. Him. She felt everything now. Every inch of her was buzzing with love, with life. Her inner walls clenched around him as he pumped faster. The release was blinding, bright, light bursting into her soul. 

He lay there, his weight resting on top of her, but this was a weigh she did not mind. It was comfort, steady, a firm body and love against her, keeping her grounded. After a little while, he rose off of her. Even though the rain outside was freezing, her clothes were damp with perspiration, twisted around her body. 

Jughead kissed her and the rolled off the couch and onto his feet. She watched him as he stretched his lean body. God, she was so lucky to call him hers. Jughead pulled on his shirt, but stopped when he was halfway finished with the buttons. He leaned in to look at something on the dusty bookshelf. He picked up a 3x5 framed photo, studied it for a moment, and then handed it off to Betty. 

Seven teenagers were posed together, some looking at the camera, some at each other, all smiling. This was the first time Betty had seen it, but she knew this had to be the picture Eric had found. They were all there, standing in front of a gold lettered sign that said Goldhead, the five people they knew about--Fred, Mary, Snake, FP Jones, Sheriff Keller--and the two they didn’t.

To get a better look, Betty grabbed the frame from Jughead. She recognized the two people on the ride side of the photo. “That’s Hermione and Hiram Lodge!” Betty exclaimed. “And they both are wearing Southside Serpent jackets.”


	7. The Crown Prince of the Southside

Jughead paced in front of the couch as Betty was still trying to get her clothes back into place. He paused briefly in his pondering to appreciate the beautiful goddess that was his girlfriend. She'd let her hair air dry this morning, leaving it in soft waves. She hadn't put on any makeup either, her dewy, pink skin natural. She was so beautiful it was surreal, so kind, so sexy, so smart. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the lust that had just pulsed through his body, causing him to stiffen beneath the zipper of his jeans. They had literally just had sex, but just the sight of her had him wanting her again. 

He sat down next to her on the couch and looked at the picture of the seven teens from Goldhead. There weren't many framed photos in Jughead's house, none of his parent's wedding day or any of his dad from high school. This was the first time he'd seen what FP looked like when he was his age, and Jughead looked unnervingly like his dad. FP was tall and lanky, hair dark and wavy, same Serpent jacket. The only difference was Jughead had his crown beanie and his eyes were blue instead of brown like his dad’s. 

Sheriff Keller was blonde, a stiff looking collared shirt buttoned up to the very top button. He was the only one not smiling in the picture, his gaze was off to the side, his mouth set to a frown. Mary’s hair was a brighter red and Fred’s was styled into a pompadour, and they looked very much look they did now. Hermione was dressed in skintight black jeans and a thin, white cotton t shirt under her petite Serpent jacket. The jacket didn't belong to another member, but had obviously been tailored to fit her. Her eye makeup was heavy and dark, her black hair ironed straight. Hiram wore torn jeans and a wife beater tanktop under his jacket. His hairstyle was similar to Fred's, but Hiram was sporting a black eye and a cut on his chin, signs that he had recently been in a fight. 

“Veronica's parents were Serpents,” Jughead said. “Interesting.”

“And this cabin never burned down,” Betty said, looking around its small living room. 

“Yeah,” Jughead said, nodding. “Maybe it was rebuilt? But who would have done it? And why is it still in Michael James's name?”

“One of the seven did it,” Betty said. “Who else would put a framed picture of them in here?”

“So what do we do? What's our next step?” Jughead asked. “Maybe I should try calling Eric or Snake. Maybe they've resurfaced.” He pulled out his cell and did just that. Snake’s phone was shut off completely and Eric's went to voicemail after several rings.

“We can't go back to the hospital now since I freaked out on Hiram. He'll probably call the cops. Hermione is a liar. She won't tell us anything.”

“Go see my dad?” Jughead suggested. 

“We don't know exactly where he is,” Betty reminded him. 

Briefly, Jughead had forgotten that his dad was on his way to federal prison. Yes, it sucked when his dad was locked into a holding cell in the Riverdale Police Station, but this was worse. It always got worse for Jughead. And that’s why he was still nervous about Betty. In his heart, he knew that she loved him, but with his track record, he had to wonder when the other shoe would drop. When his life would turn even more sideways and he’d lose her. 

Betty must have sensed that something was off with him, because she leaned over and kissed his cheek, and then placed her hand on his knee. “We’re going to find him.” If only that was all he was worried about. “Mary has to be on the ground in Chicago by now. I’ll call her.” Betty dialed her number and she answered on the second ring. Betty put her on speakerphone. 

“Betty, I just heard what’s happened,” Mary said. “I’m heading back this afternoon.”

“We need to speak with FP right away. Keller moved him without telling anyone. Jughead is worried, and so am I.”

“Wait, what?” Mary asked. “Where’s FP?”

“What are you talking about? You don’t know? Keller moved FP to federal prison, at least we think. We’re not exactly sure where he is. All we know is that Keller moved FP.”

“That’s not possible. I’m his lawyer and Keller would have had to notify me before he did anything.”

“Something’s happened, Mrs. Andrews. We’re not sure what but FP and two Southside Serpents are missing and we think it has something to do with Fred’s shooting.” Mary sighed into the phone. “We know about Goldhead,” Betty said, though they really didn’t know much of anything. “It’s the reason Fred got shot, isn’t it?” 

“Yes,” Mary replied, her voice unwavering. 

“What happened twenty-five years ago? What’s the big secret you share with Keller?”

“I’ll be back in Riverdale by nightfall. I’ll explain everything then. Keller moved FP for a reason, probably to protect him. I know you think that Sheriff Keller is working against you, but he’s on your side. I swear.”

“Is my dad in danger?” Jughead asked.

“No more danger than the rest of us,” Mary said. 

“Should I be worried about my mom?” Betty asked. 

“No, Alice wasn’t there that night. She’s the only one of us not at fault. I’ll be there in a few hours. I’ll tell you everything I can.”

“Tell us now,” Betty said. 

“I can’t. It’s not safe,” Mary said. 

“Why?” Betty asked. “Are we in danger?” 

“You’ll be fine, but be careful. Don’t poke around too much.”

“Why all the cloak and dagger? Just tell us,” Jughead said. 

“I can’t!” Mary yelled into the phone. “I have to go. I promise I’ll tell you everything as soon as I get there.”

Betty’s finger hoovered over the end call button, but Jughead spoke before she could press it. “What did you mean when you answered the phone?” Jughead asked. “You said you’d just heard something and that was why you were heading back earlier than planned. What happened?”

“It’s Fred. His doctor said he was sleeping when the nurse last checked on him, but there was some sort of commotion in his room, and then a little while after that he slipped into a coma.”

“It was Hiram!” Betty said. “He came in right after us, and don’t tell me he wasn’t up to something nefarious.” 

“Hiram is a shady businessman, but he’s one of Fred’s oldest friends. He would never do anything to hurt Fred.”

“Fred had an affair with Hermione,” Jughead interjected. “I’d say that’s a pretty good reason to have Fred shot.”

“He did what?” Mary asked, her voice shrill, but then she calmed down. “No, that doesn’t even matter. Hiram was there that night. Besides how could Hiram have been Fred fall into a coma? That’s a medical condition. It’s from complications from her surgery.”

“Maybe he drugged him,” Betty suggested. 

“Besides the coma, Fred is fine. Keller told me that he was going to put a cop outside his hospital room.”

“There wasn’t one there earlier when we visited,” Jughead said, and maybe that was a good thing. If a cop would have been there when Betty attacked Hiram, Betty might have been taken down to the station. 

“One is there now. I called and checked.” Mary hesitated for a moment, but then said, “Call Sheriff Keller. Tell him that you know about Goldhead. He’ll explain as much as he can, as much as he knows. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

And she hung up her phone. Betty called it back, but Mary had shut her phone off. “I don’t understand why she couldn’t just tell us over the phone. It’s not like we’re being bugged.”

Jughead shrugged. “You never know.”

Next Betty called Sheriff Keller, but there was no answer. “Damn it. Why is nobody answering their phones?” she commented. But then Jughead’s phone rang.

“Hello?” he said. He turned it to speaker phone and showed Betty that the call was coming in from the Riverdale Police Department. 

“Jughead, it’s Carol. I found out the federal prison where FP was supposed to be booked. I’m friends with warden. FP never showed up.”

Shit. “Any word from Keller?”

“Nothing. He’s MIA, which is very strange. Sheriff Keller always answers his calls or his walke. I found his squad car parked in the very back of our lot. His civilian vehicle is missing though. I’ll keep calling him, and I’ve put out an APB on his jeep.”

“Thanks again, Carol,” Jughead said. 

“I hope you kids figure this out,” Carol said. “Good luck.” 

“Shit,” Jughead said. “My dad, Keller, Eric, and Snake are all missing. Fred is in a coma, and Mary is too scared to talk about Goldhead over the phone.”

“Should I be worried about my mom, too?”

“Mary assured us that she wasn’t there on that fateful night twenty-five years ago.”

“Eric wasn’t there, either, and he’s missing, too,” Betty said.

“Good point. Let’s head back into town. You can tell your mom to maybe take Polly on a weekend getaway, and I can check on Archie, see how Fred is doing.”

They left the cabin, but took the picture with them. As the truck bumped down the wooded drive, Jughead glanced over to Betty. She was back, the sold, strong girl he loved. But he loved the other girl, too, the scared, sad girl he’d seen when they got to the cabin. He loved all of her, every beautiful inch. 

“How are you?” he asked her. “You seem to be feeling things just fine now.” Thinking of what they had just done on the couch in the cabin, he smiled over to her. 

“I feel good,” she replied. “Thanks to you.”

He cocked his eyebrows at her. “I can’t take all the credit.”

“At least part of it.” She reached across the bench seat, took his hand, and kissed it. “Thanks, Jug, and not just for the sex, which always fantastic, by the way. Like how are you so good?”

“It’s an innate gift all the Jones men have,” he said, cocking his eyebrows at her.” They both chortled.

“But really?” Betty asked. 

“You know how I love to read? Well, remember that summer before 8th grade when I broke my arm?” She nodded. “I was so bored, and I couldn’t ride my bike to the library, so I read everything in the house twice. Then I found all my mom’s romance novels under her bed. They were an excellent source material.”

Betty burst out laughing. “That explains so much,” she said after she recovered. “But seriously, thank you for sticking by me, through all of this.”

“You act like it’s such a chore,” he replied. “It’s a privilege. And it’s not like it’s so easy with me.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“I’m not easy to love, I know that.” His entire life, everyone around him had such an easy time leaving him, even Archie. Yes, his best friend had been there for him recently, but there had been so many times Archie had ditched him for something else, someone better, cooler, more normal. And his own mother had abandoned him, his father had never said he loved him. As long as he lived, he would never think he deserved love, especially not from a goddess like Betty. 

She unbuckled her seatbelt and scooted all the way over so that she was right next to him. She looped her hand through the bend in his arm. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jughead Jones,” she said. “Loving you was the easiest, most natural thing in the world to me. And I’m not the only one who loves you. I know you have a hard time seeing it, but so many people care about you.”

He kissed her cheek briefly before turning back to the road. With all the bullshit he’d been dealt in his life, none of it mattered if he had Betty. “Here’s what I think,” Jughead said. “Just like when they were in high school. Sheriff Keller is the linchpin in all this, he’s the one keeping the secret together and hidden. He hung around to make sure they didn’t get into trouble when the Whyte Wrym was opened, and now as the sheriff, he’s doing the same thing. I feel like Keller knows who really shot Fred and is covering it up. Just like he covered things up twenty-five years ago.”

 

“But Mary said that we should trust Keller.”

“Keller has been nothing but a bumbling ass.

“And I don’t think it’s a coincidence that all this happened right when Hiram Lodge came back to town.”

“I could talk to Veronica. Tell her what’s going, and maybe warn her that her parents might be in danger, too.”

“No,” Jughead said. “Ultimately, Veronica is a daddy’s girl. She won’t be any help. Let’s keep this between us for just a little while longer.”

“But I don’t know if we should. I have a feeling this all stems back to the Lodges,” Betty said. “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that all this happened right when Hiram Lodge came back to town.” 

“After all, Veronica has been running around town, whining to anyone who would listen that she thinks her dad had something to do with Jason’s murder. Maybe she’s actually right about the murdering part at least. I wouldn’t put it past him to be the reason behind Fred’s shooting.”

“But how do we prove it?” Betty asked.

“I don’t know yet.” 

They both turned their attention to the Cooper’s when Alice stepped onto the front porch. She was dressed in business attire, ready for the day. Betty should go inside and make sure that Polly was okay, and he needed to check on Archie. “Go talk to your mom,” Jughead said. “I’ll come pick you up in about half an hour. I’ll see how Archie is doing, too.”

She kissed his cheek and slipped out of the truck. Betty was met by Alice and then Polly who had also come out onto the porch. Good. Polly was okay and so were her babies, one less thing for Betty to worry about.

“Arch?” Jughead yelled out when he got inside. “You here?”

“In the kitchen,” Archie called. “I’m making pizza.” Archie was at the kitchen table, his head down, chin resting on his stacked hands as he stared at the oven.

“You okay?” Jughead asked. “I heard about your dad.”

“I’m just taking a break, a shower, grabbing something to eat, and then I’m headed back up there.”

“Do you want some company?” Jughead asked.

“Nah, Veronica is coming with me. So’s Kevin. They were just here, but wanted to stop by Betty’s before we went back to the hospital.”

Jughead sat next to Archie at the table. He should give Archie some credit and fill him in on what he and Betty were up to. “Betty and I think your dad’s shooting wasn’t random.”

Archie sighed and look to him. “I don’t think so either. My mom has been acting really weird about all of it.”

“Has she said anything else?”

“No, but I just get this vibe from her.” Archie started to say something else, but then the oven dinged. “There’s the pizza!”

They ate the meal, and as they did, Jughead made sure to keep the conversation light. He wasn’t naturally an optimistic, bearer of good news, but Jughead did his best to lift Archie’s spirits. Once they’d finished and cleaned up their mess, Archie said, “I’m going to shower and get back to the hospital.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to come?” Jughead asked even though Veronica and Kevin were going to be with him.

“I want you to figure out who shot my dad. Do what you and Betty do best. Solve this mystery. I’ll be fine. I’ll have Veronica by my side. I told her I loved her, by the way,” he said. 

“And?” Jughead asked. 

Archie grinned, an act that was once so normal to him. It’d been too long since Jughead had seen his best friend happy. “She said it back, dude.”

“Congratulations,” he said, genuinely happy for Archie. “I’ll let you get cleaned up. I’m going over to Betty’s, Call me if you need anything.”

“Will do,” Archie said, saluting Jughead. 

As Jughead jogged down the front steps, he noticed that Alice’s station wagon wasn’t in the driveway. Alice must have listened to Betty and left town with Polly to be on the safe side. Jughead let himself in the front door. He went up to Betty’s room, but she wasn’t alone. Kevin sat, perched on her window seat and Veronica was laying across Betty’s bed.  
“Why are they here?” Jughead asked. “We said we’d keep this just between us, remember?” 

“Hello and goodmorning to you, too,” Kevin quipped. “My dad called me earlier and said he was transferring your dad to the federal prison upstate. I’m sorry.” He clapped Jughead on the shoulder, but Jughead shrugged him off. 

He didn’t want Veronica or Kevin knowing that his dad had been transferred to federal prison or that FP was involved in yet another shady thing that might have gotten someone killed.

“My dad said that FP committed a federal crime and that he belongs in the federal prison.”

“Kevin, this FP we’re talking about not some crimelord. It’s Jughead’s dad?” Betty said.

“I know,” Kevin said. “And I’m sorry, dude, really. This sucks. FP isn’t a bad guy.”

“Um, thanks, Kev.” Kevin’s apology didn’t mean anything. Kevin would never understand what it was like to be him. Kevin had everything handed to him. He had no idea what Jughead had been through, what he would go through his entire life.

“But it turns out that FP and your dad never made it to the other prison,” Betty said. “He’s not answering Carol’s calls either.”

“I’m sure he’s just going through a patch of road with no cell service,” Kevin said, but then Kevin pulled out his phone and dialed. As he waited for an answer, their attention was drawn to Veronica.

Veronica stood up suddenly, like she was about to introduce herself at an AA meeting. She cleared her throat. “You guys, I think my dad is behind this,” Veronica said.

Jughead caught Betty’s attention, and they rolled their eyes in unison. “No offense, Veronica, but you think that your dad is behind everything,” Jughead said. “But I actually agree this time.”

“He is!” she exclaimed. “Just because he’s my dad doesn’t mean I’m blinded by that. I still see him for who he is.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jughead asked. “I know exactly what kind of man my dad is. Yeah he’s not perfect, but he’s only ever done the things he’s done to protect my family, because he loves us.”

“Same with my dad,” Veronica said. “And I’m not saying my dad is any better. Hiram Lodge is much, much worse. So is my mom. They choose to be bad. They like it, revel in it.”

“Did you know that your parents were Serpents?” Betty asked as she pulled out the picture of the seven.

“What!?” Veronica exclaimed. 

“Wow,” Kevin said. “Your dad was a babe. So was your mom.”

“Not important right now, Kev,” Veronica said. 

“So what are we going to do, V?” Betty asked. “Can you look around your place and see if you can find anything that proves your parents are involved in this?”

“Of course,” Veronica said. “I’d do anything for you, B.” She reached out and touched Jughead’s forearm. “Anything for you, too, Jughead. You’re my friends, better than family. And I’m with you. I think my dad is behind this. All of it.”

“He wasn’t behind Jason’s murder,” Jughead said, playing devil’s advocate. 

Veronica shrugged. “My dad didn’t pull the trigger, but he had been forcing the Blossoms to pay him every month for the last twenty-five years. Maybe he had the same deal with Michael James.” Jughead shot Betty a confused looked, but then Veronica explained. “Betty filled us in on Goldhead, even the dead guy in the not-so-burned-down cabin. What if my dad was blackmailing Michael James for some reason.”

“At the time of Michael’s James’s death, your father was a senior in high school,” Jughead said. 

“But his dad wasn’t. My dad has worked for my grandpa all his life. I wouldn’t put anything past him, even as a teenager. My dad has threatened me, my mom, everything good in my life. If he’s behind this, I want to take him down.”

Kevin stood and looped his arm through Veronica’s. “Come on, Ronnie. I’ll drop you and Archie off at the hospital, and I’ll go see what I can uncover at my house, and see if I can find my dad. He didn’t answer his cell for me either, but he might answer our CB radio.”

“Now you’re betraying your dad?” Jughead asked. 

“Nah, I’m proving his innocence. My dad isn’t the jerk you think he is.”

“I hope you’re right, Kev,” Jughead said.

“I am,” Kevin replied. “We’ll leave the crown prince of the Southside Serpents and his queen to what they does best.”

All this time they’d been talking with Veronica and Kevin, Jughead’s phone had been buzzing, an unavailable number ringing through over and over again. He fished his phone out of his pocket. “What?” he demanded when he answered.

“Jughead, it’s Eric.”

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked.

“It’s a long story. Come to the Whyte Wyrm and I’ll explain everything.”

“Did you find your dad?”

“No, not yet, and I need your help. We all do. Bad things are happening on the Southside. Things are falling apart over here. All the Serpents want to meet with you. We need a leader, and that’s you, Jughead. Bring Betty.”

Betty had turned to him, looking at him expectedly as he hung up his phone and put it into his pocket. And he made a decision right then and there. “That was Eric. He wants us to come to the Whyte Wyrm.”

“Did he find Snake?” Betty asked.

“No, but he says he has something he needs to discuss with us first. Looks like you’re getting your wish, and I’ll be meeting with the Serpents. As their leader.”


	8. The Prince and his Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all, I'm a single mom and school administrator and I'm about to be killed by the start of this school year. I literally have negative time in my day to even pee, but I'm still trying to write this fanfiction because it's keeping me alive. My brain is almost dead, so please ignore typos and shit. I love you all. Thank you for all the comments.

From off to the side, Betty watched Jughead as he stood in the front of the small group of bikers. Most of the men were in their forties, close to FP’s age, but a few younger ones were mixed in. In a dull hum, they talked amongst themselves, some behind their hands, reminding Betty of gossiping old ladies at church. Johnny was there, too, still sitting in his corner booth, cup of coffee in hand, but he’d taken off his flannel shirt. He had on only a v-necked t-shirt, and Betty noticed a tattoo of a blooming rose peeking out of the color of the shirt. 

When they arrived at the Whyte Wrym, the lights were on, and in the brightness, every knick on the wooden floor, every ding in the bar counter, and every tear in the plastic seats were visible. The place wasn’t dirty, though, just well worn. Everything was much the same as it had been when Betty and Jughead had been here a few hours ago, except now there was a scratched up pool table pulled into the middle of what was the dance floor, right in the way. 

Eric was with Jughead, huddled together, their heads close as they talked quietly. Jughead perked up, looked to Betty, and called her over to them. He had on FP’s black Serpent jacket, his beanie sitting atop his black wavy hair, making him truly look like the crown prince of the Serpents. She noticed now that the circles under his eyes were darker than usual, yet he didn't look weary. His shoulders were squared and he was vibrant and alert. Jughead wasn’t one who sought the spotlight, but he took to it easily. Betty could see him as a leader. 

She approached them, and when she was next to Jughead, he put his arm around her, drawing her into their closed circle. “Where have you been, Eric?” Jughead asked. 

“Looking for my dad. I got this weird call last night, after I talked to you,” Eric said. “It was from an unavailable number, and the voice was strange, scrambled with one of those voice changers they used in that movie Scream. Whoever called me said to wait for them outside the Whyte Wyrm. As I stood outside in the icy rain, freezing my ass off, my phone died. But I stayed there, praying the caller would show up. Hours later, I was about the give up, but then the payphone next to the Whyte Wyrm’s front door rang. I answered it, and the same voice told me to go to Sweetwater River, so I went down there to search.”

“But Johnny said that he saw you outside the Whyte Wyrm early this morning,” Betty said. “And you got into someone’s car.”

“Yeah, it was Sheriff Keller. I flagged him down when I saw the squad car. I thought maybe he could help. My dad thought Keller was a bumbling idiot, but he told me once that Keller was the one cop he trusted. So Keller pulled over, and I got into his car. He drove me down to Sweetwater and we looked around for a while until he got an emergency call. He had to leave right away and I couldn’t come, but he sent another officer to pick me up. But before he left, he told me to stop looking. He kind of yelled at me.”

“That must have been when he decided to move FP,” Betty said. 

“I bet that Keller saw something at Sweetwater that made him nervous,” Jughead said. “Maybe that not-so-burned-down cabin that belonged to Michael James.”

“Exactly” Betty said.

“What cabin?” Eric asked. 

“We think it has something to do with Goldhead and why our dads are MIA, but we’re not sure yet. We’re still piecing things together,” Jughead said. 

“So did you find anything else out at Sweetwater? Do you know if your dad ever when there?” Betty asked. 

“No, nothing. No clues, no trace of my dad. The call sent me on a wild goose chase.” 

“Eric told me what he knows about Goldhead,” Jughead said. 

“It's a Serpent secret,” Eric said. “We're supposed to keep it just between members.”

“She's my girlfriend, as good as family, as good as blood,” Jughead said. His arm tightened around her, his hand clutching her shoulder. She felt steady now, powerful and in charge. Yes, the medication was working, but it was Jughead, too. With him by her side, she could do anything.

“Alright,” Eric said after taking a moment to size her up. “Back when our parents were our age, Michael James ran Goldhead in the basement here. At first it was just for fun, a place for the underage kids to hang out and get into a little harmless trouble, but then Hiram Lodge started running a gambling ring. Our dads were involved, too. They all made a heap of money, but it wasn't enough for Hiram and Hermione. Hermione thought cock fighting would be more lucritive, and for a while, a group of teenagers made bank, but then they got caught. FP and my dad took the fall for it. Hermione and Hiram walked away with a slap on the wrist, community service, while my dad and FP were sent to juvie for a few months.”

“If they took the fall, then why is someone coming after them now?” Jughead asked. “Cock fighting and gambling is probably a misdemeanor. And they were all underage.”

“Did the papers report on it?” Betty asked. “Did it go on their records?” Eric shrugged. “It just doesn't seem like a big enough deal to kill someone over. And Fred wasn't even involved in it. Why would someone shoot him over it?”

“Because he threatened to say something?” Eric suggested. 

“About a twenty-five year old cock fighting ring?” Jughead said. “I doubt it. What about the other Serpents? What do they know?”

“Nothing about Goldhead,” Eric said. “But for some reason, Goldhead knows about us.”

“What are you talking about?” Jughead asked. 

Eric didn’t respond, but instead went over to the oddly placed pool table and pushed it out of the way. And he revealed more my than a scuffed up dance floor.

Die Serpents! Die! 

It was painted in gold letters, written in the same terrifying script that had been left on her locker with the hanging Betty doll. Die Serpent Slut! She had more in common with the Serpents than she realized, and a part of her wondered if maybe whoever threatened her was now threatening the Serpents, too.

“Well, that’s dramatic,” Jughead said. 

“It looks just like what was written on my locker,” Betty said. 

“The same son of a bitch better not have written on your locker, too,” Jughead said. 

“Riverdale hates us right now,” Eric said, interjecting. “You’ve felt it. Betty’s felt it. Even though Cliff Blossom killed Jason, the town still blames us. Cliff Blossom brought drugs into town, and yet it’s somehow still our fault.”

“But it’s not,” Betty said. “I wrote a very informative article about it.”

“The town doesn’t care. They want a scapegoat and the Serpents are an easy target. Ever since FP was arrested, the Serpents have been getting shit from everyone. We’re getting harassed, people are getting fired from their day jobs, someone even poisoned my friend’s dog because it had a snake collar. And now this. Someone came into our bar and vandalised it with this threat.”

Jughead looked over to Johnny. “Isn't he the only one who was in the bar this morning?” Jughead asked. 

“Yeah, but he said he didn't see anything. People are getting nervous and with your dad gone, they don’t know what to do.”

“What am I supposed to do?” Jughead asked. 

“Lead them,” Betty said. “Talk to them, listen to their concerns. You're smart, Juggie. You’ll figure this out.”

“You’re the smart one,” Jughead said. He started to lean in to kiss her,

“We could make her a Serpent. Officially,” Eric said. “That way the others will listen her.”

“What do you mean, make her a Serpent?” Jughead asked. “Is there some dark ritual with candles that we have to perform at the stroke of midnight?”

“No,” Eric huffed, obviously offended that Jughead joked about it. 

“Just give her a jacket, she’s in.”

“I’ll call my grandma,” Eric said. “She’s in charge of making them.”

“So your granny spends her days embordering snakes on leather jackets for the Serpents?” Jughead asked.

“Yes,” Eric replied. 

The idea of Eric’s fluffy haired, housecoat-wearing grandma, bent over needlepointed snakes made both Betty and Jughead smile. “Honestly,” Betty said. “I really want a jacket. I am a Serpent Slut actually, so I might as well make it official.” She laughed, but Jughead frowned. “Oh, relax, I didn't take it personally then and I'm not taking it personal now. I don't care what anyone says. I love you and that’s all that matters.”

Jughead turned to her, a huge grin on his face. “She’s a Serpent,” Jughead said. “With or without the jacket.” He leaned over and kissed her almost without interruption this time. 

“Junior!” One of the Serpents called to Jughead. “When we gonna get this thing started? We all know you’d prefer to kiss your pretty girlfriend, but some of us still have jobs.”

“Devil, don’t call me Junior,” Jughead said, sneering at him. Sometimes Betty forgot that he and FP actually shared a name. “It’s Jughead, and you know it. So what’s so important?” 

“Riverdale is being a little shit to us,” said Devil, the man who had called him Junior. Devil didn’t look anything like his evil namesake. Sure, Devil had tattoos and long, blond greasy hair, but his smile was so genuine and bright when he winked at Betty that she liked him instantly. 

“I got laid off this morning just because I wore my jacket to work,” said another. 

“You also went to work a little drunk from last night,” Devil said with a chuckle. “And now someone vandalized the Whyte Wrym. They came into our home and defiled it.” Devil dramatically stood, reminding Betty of Veronica and her climactic declaration that she was dating Archie. 

“It’s a bar, Devil. Relax,” Jughead said. Then he turned to Johnny “Where were you, Johnny? You were here this morning, we were, too, but this wasn’t painted on the floor.” 

“I went out back to unload a delivery, and when I came back inside, the front door to the bar was wide opened. I locked up tight after I came in this morning, just like always. Someone broke in.” Setting down his coffee mug, Johnny came out of the booth, and marched over to them. 

“Or someone had a key,” Betty suggested. “There has to be other people who work here who could have gotten in, or maybe you forgot to lock up.” She remembered Jughead telling her Johnny wasn’t all there in the head. 

“I do not forget,” Johnny said, his tone thick with anger.

And then Betty recalled that Jughead had told her Johnny also had a problem with violence, too. 

“She didn’t mean anything by it,” Eric said. 

Johnny still stood a few feet off, but Jughead stepped right next to Betty, his body halfway shielding hers. “It’s okay, man, we believe you.” Jughead gently pushed Betty behind him and reached out his hand to Johnny. “What are you holding there?” 

Johnny looked down at his hand, back at Jughead, and to the crowd around him. “What?” His grey eyes darted back and forth, unfocused and confused. Johnny unclenched his fist. The photo was wrinkled, but Betty recognized it right away.

Betty moved around Jughead, and he reluctantly let her walk up to Johnny. She placed her hand on his. She’d dealt with people like Johnny before, namely her sister Polly. Someone like him needed kindness to help him open up. “Can I see it?” Betty asked, and Johnny placed the photo in her hand. 

“This was tacked to the basement door,” he said. “Didn’t find it until later, after I found that gold writing on the floor.”

Jughead looked at the picture, too. It was another copy of the seven teens from Goldhead that Eric and they had seen, but this one was different. Fred's imagine had a red X marked through it. And so did Hiram Lodge. 

“I have to call Veronica,” Betty said. Panicked, she stepped away from them and dialed her best friend’s number. There wasn’t an answer. Why the hell was no one in Riverdale answering their phones today? She stood off, a small distance away from Jughead and the other Serpents as they continued their discussion, all telling Jughead their individual struggles since FP had been arrested. Jughead took time to speak to each of them separately, addressing their concerns, while Betty continued to call Veronica, but there was still no answer so she sent a text. 

What if the killer had already found Hiram? Sure, Betty didn’t like the man. Yes, she’d just choked him, but Veronica loved him. She didn’t want her best friend to lose her dad. And if someone had already shot Fred, and was now coming after Hiram Lodge, who would be next? Mary Andrews, Keller, Snake, FP? Her own mother. She started to pace, trying to focus her mind, and figure out who was behind this. All these clues didn’t add up to anything. Her brain was cloudy and she knew it was because of her medication. This is what always happened when she took it. She fluctuated between numb, reckless, and dumb. 

What the hell was Goldhead really? Eric’s explanation of the illegal gambling wasn’t enough. There had to be something else. Twenty-five years ago, those seven teenagers had to have done something awful, unforgivable, something that had someone after them, after their lives. What if she was in danger, too? What about Jughead? Now he was the acting king of the Serpents, which made him even more of a target, and she was the reason he’d taken the leadership on.

Jughead made eye contact with her, and he must have sensed her panic because he excused himself from the man he was talking to and went over to Betty. “What is?” His hand pressed into her lower back, and she stopped pacing, stood still on her own two feet. 

“I can’t get ahold of Veronica. What if she’s at risk? What if we all are?”

“Betty,” he said, but when her breathing began to labor, he cupped her face in both of his hands. “We’re going to figure all of this out, and everyone is going to be just fine. Even that asshole Hiram Lodge. It’s going to be okay.”

“But what if it’s not? We’re all in danger now.”

“We were before when we were investigating Jason’s murder.”

“But that was different. Our parents are involved this time.”

“They were involved last time, at least my dad was.”

“And you're in danger now,” she said.

“I was last time, you were, too. Shit, Clifford Blossom threatened to shoot me in the head. I survived. We all will. Figuring this out is important.”

“I know,” she said. “Just stay close. Being away from you right now will make me nervous.” It took a lot to admit that to him, but she knew he wouldn’t judge her for her anxiety. There suddenly was a tickle in her throat, so she tried to clear it. “I might sound needy and clingy, but I need you, right beside me until we solve this thing.”

“Not a problem. All I have ever wanted is to be beside you,” Jughead said. “Do you want to go? Maybe get a little fresh air?”

“Yeah, but don’t you need to finish up here?” she asked. 

He glanced back to the Serpents. Since he’d talked to them, a sense of calm had spread through the bar. Whatever he’d said to appease them had worked. “Nah, they’re fine. At least for now. I suggested that they stay in group. No one travels alone. All of them are going to do some asking around to their families and see if anyone knows about Goldhead.”

“Okay,” she replied. “I want to check on Veronica. Warn her dad.”

“I want to see Archie, and let him know just how serious this is.”

Jughead took her hand and together, they made their way out to the parking lot. The rain had turned into a slushy snow, already turning grey as it hit the dingy streets of the Southside. White, fluffy snow clouds had thickened the sky. Even though it was dreary, the world felt brighter, clearer outside. Maybe it was Jughead, who had put his arm around her shoulder, leading her onto the cracked sidewalk outside the Whyte Wyrm, or maybe the meds were regulating, but the worry didn’t seem so heavy now. Betty closed her eyes and turned her face upwards, the flakes hitting her cheeks. 

“I love you, Betty Cooper,” Jughead said.

She opened her eyes to see Jughead watching her. He was smiling that rare true smile that reached his eyes, his heart. “I love you, Jughead Jones.” She started to say something else, but stopped herself when they heard a loud pop come from where they’d parked the truck. It was then that they both noticed that the truck was lopsided, two of the four tires flat.

With her hand still in his, they stepped off the curb and rounded the bed of FP’s truck, and hunched down besides the back wheel was Johnny, switchblade in hand. Immediately Jughead moved in front of Betty. Jughead inched Betty back so that she was a little farther away from the situation. As Johnny rose to his feet, Jughead held his hand out, warning him off. 

“Don’t move,” Jughead said. “Just drop the knife and go back into the bar.”

Betty clutched at Jughead’s forearm, wanting to pull him away. But she knew he would know how to best handle the situation. He could do this. That’s what leaders did. 

“Danger, danger, danger,” Johnny said, rocking himself slightly. The switchblade clanked to the ground as he dropped it at his feet. His fingers dripped blood, but it was only because his palms were sliced opened. “You’re going to get yourselves killed. It’s not safe. You have to stay here. The Whyte Wyrm is the only safe place left.” 

Jughead looked over his shoulder to Betty, and said, “Go get Eric.” Not wanting to leave him alone with a deranged man, she hesitated. “I’m fine. Go.”

She did what he asked, turned on her heels, and ran back inside the bar. When she rushed in, every Southside Serpent went silent and looked up at her. “It’s Johnny,” she said, out of breath. “He’s got a knife.”

With Eric and a few other Serpents with her, she ran back to the parking lot, prepared for the worst, but instead she found Jughead and Johnny calmly sitting on the curb. The switch blade was at least ten feet away where Johnny had dropped it. Jughead’s arm was around Johnny’s shoulder as he spoke quietly to him. 

“Hey, Johnny,” Devil said as he sat down next to the man. He took a look at Johnny’s bloody palms. “How about we get you clean up? I’m still pretty good at stitching people up.”

Johnny nodded and with the help of Eric and Devil, he stood, and was ushered away. “I didn’t mean to do no harm,” Johnny said. “I was just trying to help. Don’t make me go back to that house! I don’t belong with all the nuts.”

Jughead was suddenly next to her a she watched the three disappear once the bar’s door was closed. “You okay?” he asked. 

“Are you?” Betty said. She grabbed at the front of his jacket and looked him up and down. He was fine. There wasn’t a scratch on him. His beanie wasn’t even out of place. 

“I’m fine,” he said, taking his hands in hers. He looked at FP’s truck and then back to the Whyte Wrym. Eric had come back out of the bar.

“I’ll get one of the guys to tow your truck to the shop and put new tires on it,” Eric said. “Your dad’s motorcycle is still in the garage next door.” He tossed Jughead the keys and he caught them in one hand. “It’s yours.”

“Thanks,” he said. Eric left them, and Jughead brought Betty along with him down the sidewalk. 

“What about Johnny?” she asked. “Are you going to file a police report?” 

“What?” he asked, glancing at her as he let her in through a small side door in the wooden garage next to the bar. “No. He didn’t mean anything by it. For the better part of the last thirty years, he’s been in and out of a mental hospital. He can’t help it. He’s--” He stopped himself. 

“Crazy,” Betty supplied. “Crazy like me.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “No. Don’t say that about yourself.”

“But I am, Jug. What I did to Hiram this morning isn’t that different. It’s worse, in fact. Johnny thought he was protecting us by slicing your tires. I hate Hiram Lodge, so I choked him.”

“Believe me, every person who has even met Hiram Lodge has probably wanted to choke him,” he said, giving her a lopsided grin, trying to make her laugh. She gave him a slight glare, letting him know now was not the time. “Sorry.”

You’re not crazy. You’re not crazy. You’re not crazy. She repeated the words to herself, but still had a hard time believing them. Betty sighed. 

“Also. . .” Jughead said. Just that little word brought her back to their first kiss, back to sanity. Instantly the world was all vibrant colors, everything alive and buzzing with feeling. She looked up at him, his gaze traveling between her lips and eyes. And then his mouth pressed into hers, soft yet firm. His lips parted his tongue dipping into the recesses of her mouth, gently at first, but when she responded, he increased the pressure. His fingers tunneled through her hair, angling her closer so that he could deepen the kiss.

With his arms around her lower back, Jughead lifted her up, backing her up until she hit something solid. She glanced down and realized that he had set her on the seat of a motorcycle. The leather of its seat was cool against her skin. He rucked up the hem of her skirt until it was pooled around her hips. All five fingers of each hand dragged up her thighs, shoving them apart. He hadn’t even touched her, and already she was so wet, the moisture seeping through the silk of her panties. Using the back of his knuckles, he stroked her, and her hips bucked. He nudged the elastic of her panties aside, and delved into her wetness. They signed in unison, and then she pushed against his hand, wanting him deeper, as his fingers slid in and out. He didn’t stop until she had to brace herself against the wall behind her to keep from sliding off the motorcycle seat. Her legs trembled, and she pulsed around his fingers as she came.

Quickly, he undid his belt, and unzipped his zipper. He didn’t even take the time to pull her panties down her legs. He couldn’t wait, so instead he did as before and only shoved the elastic aside. She slung her legs around him, hooking her ankles together at the small of his back. With both palms against the wall behind her, he bracketed her head, using it as leverage to thrust into her. He immersed himself, deep within her, and it felt like a cleansing, a rebirth. He looked down at her, their eyes locking, as they started to move in accord. His eyesight shifted from her face to her heaving breasts, and he clawed at her shirt until she was free of the cups of her bra. With him still hard and stiff inside of her, he leaned over, palmed her breasts and brought one up to his mouth, drawing in her nipple. He sucked it powerfully, making her whimper and sigh.

Her back banged against the wall behind the motorcycle, but she barely registered it. All she could feel was Jughead sunk deep inside her, steeped in her slick softness. She reached behind herself, grasping for something to cling to. There was nothing, but before she slipped, Jughead grabbed her hands, their fingers feeding together. Just like always, he kept her up, kept her safe, kept her going. He was love in the flesh, everything she ever wanted and thought she didn’t deserve.

She clutched at the collar of his Sherpa jacket until he opened his eyes. He kissed her gently, and then the determination came back into his face.

After when they were putting their clothes back into place, Jughead looked down at Betty, and asked, “How many times have we has sex in the last twenty-four hours?”

“I’ve lost count,” Betty said, and they both giggled. “God, Jug, I didn’t know it was scientifically possible for a woman to have that many orgasms. I should write an article about you for the benefit of mankind.”

She cleaned herself up in the small dimly lit bathroom in the back corner of the garage, and as she stood up from washing her face, something glinted in the reflection of the mirror, catching her eye. A single key with a gold plated keychain hanging on a nail on the wall behind her. Betty picked it up and read aloud the word etched onto the keychain. “Goldhead,” she said. 

She came out of the bathroom and tossed the key to Jughead. “What is this?” he asked, looking down at it resting in his palm. 

“The key to Goldhead.”


	9. The Snake in the Grass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have we found Goldhead? Have we? Can they have sex in the shower?   
> Hey, ya'll. It's almost time for school to start and I was almost murdered today while reworking my school's schedule for the thousands time. Jesus take the wheel! I will get through this. At least I have my Bughead babies to give me life. Thanks for always reading and commenting. You're the true MVPS. Please excuse any typos and don't tell my principal. Being a school Administrator has fried my brain. But I'm super powerful at an elementary school, so I'll probs rule the world some day. Hugs and Kisses.

“So Goldhead was in the basement of the Whyte Wyrm, right?” Betty said. “What do you think this key unlocks? Are there any strange doors or something?”

“Not that I know of.” He palmed the key, turning the gold keychain over and over in his hand. The basement only consisted of that open, cement floor room where Jason had been murdered, FP's office, a bathroom, and a small kitchenette. There were no closets or any other doors that were locked.

“Get out the picture,” Betty said. Jughead had taken the one Johnny had found on the door of the bar. He unfolded the crumpled photo and straightened it out. They both sat on a workbench together. “Okay, so behind the seven, you can see a back wall with the Goldhead sign. You can see a little line of light that looks like an outline of a door. Maybe there's some secret room that we don't know about.”

“Let's go back to the bar, and see what we can find.”

Betty hesitated. “I'm still worried about Fred and Hiram, and the others.”

“Call Carol and fill her in. Tell her to put a cop car outside of the Lodge’s and to make sure that police officer at the hospital doesn't leave Fred's side. I'll gas up the motorcycle so we can use it once we've searched for Goldhead.”

Betty glanced at the bike and grinned. “So now you're going to be wearing that black leather jacket and driving a motorcycle?” Jughead smiled. “I don't know how I'm going to be able to keep my hands off you.”

“You can't keep your hands off my now,” he said with a cocky grin and a waggle of his dark eyebrows. 

“True. I guess it'll only get worse.”

“I'm okay with that,” he said and kissed her. 

As she pulled out her phone to call Carol, she received a text from Veronica. “V says her mom and dad are fine.” 

“Good. Tell her they'll have protection soon.”

As Betty put a call into the police station, Jughead went to the gas cans and filled up the bike’s tank. He watched Betty as she paced in front of the greased over windows of the garage. Since they'd had sex, her ponytail had come loose. She'd put her clothes back into place, but that didn't stop him from recalling what her pert breasts looked like as she writhed on the motorcycle as he made her come. He was the luckiest man alive. His phone rang, and the number that came through wasn't one he recognized. 

“Hey, Junior, it's Devil,” the man said when Jughead answered. 

He inwardly groaned. He'd always envied his dad and the power that came along with being a leader, but just the sheer amount of talking he'd had to do this morning had him exhausted. Being in the limelight was draining, but if it was what he had to do, he'd do it. Because that's what Jughead Jones did. What had to be done. 

“What's up, Devil?”

“Johnny's sleeping it off at my place. He was really agitated, so I gave him something to relax.” 

“Okay, thanks for letting me know.” He started to hang up, but said, “Don't call me Junior ever again.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Jughead,” Devil said in all seriousness. 

Maybe being the leader had its perks. “Keep an eye on Johnny for me. Text me if there are any problems.”

“Will do.” 

He hung up the phone, and then offered Betty his arm. “Shall we?” Jughead asked Betty. She placed her hand in the crook of his arm. They left the garage and went around the back of the bar. Once they had made their way down the back stairs and into the basement, they stood and stared at the dark stain that Jason's blood had left on the concrete floor.

“Do you see anything that could be a door?” he asked. 

“No. Run your hands along the wall and see if you feel a draft. We saw the light coming through a door jam in that picture. It still has to be here somewhere.” She stepped away from him, but called over her shoulder. “Turn off the lights.”

Jughead shut off the lights and the basement was cast into complete darkness. After a moment of searching, they both saw a thin strip of light in the shape of a door, right behind one of the tall filing cabinets, next to were Jason was killed. Jughead switched the lights back on, and using the key, Betty unlocked the door. There was a suction of air as together they pushed the door open. A sickening, sticky, sweet smell engulfed them. And some other scent was there, musty and decaying. Trying to abate the nausea, Betty cupped her hand over her mouth. The bare bulb overhead was burned out, but a nightlight was left on in the room. The only real light flooded in from the basement. The area couldn't be larger than ten feet by ten feet. In one corner, propped on the wall behind a pile of liquor boxes was the faded sign for Goldhead. 

“Goldhead,” Betty said. “We found it. And look!” Betty pointed to the corner where several tarps were covering up what looked liked more boxes. “I don’t think that’s alcohol under there.” 

Jughead went over and yanked the brown, dusty tarp off to reveal what was underneath--a table with beakers and tubes, like the equipment they used in chemistry. Next to the table sere stacks of wooden barrels all with the painted logo for Blossom Maple Syrup. “Again? Syrup is at the heart of a yet another crime? What is wrong with this stupid town?”

“With the Blossoms, the syrup was just a front.” Betty spun around and pointed at the table with beakers and tubes. “It wasn’t about syrup with Jason, and it isn’t about syrup now. This is their lab.” Betty took out her phone and dialed the Riverdale police department.

“What are you doing?” Jughead asked, trying to grab the phone away from her. 

“Calling the police.”

“No one can even find Keller.”

“Which is a good thing. Maybe one of his officers is actually good at his job. We need all of this documented and done right. Didn't we learn anything from Veronica and Archie’s sloppy investigation of your dad’s trailer? They didn’t go through the right channels and the evidence they found couldn’t be used to help your dad. We’ve got to make sure the right people get arrested this time.”

“You’re right,” he said. “But Fred’s not involved with the drugs, neither is my dad or the Lodges. Why would someone be coming after all of them?”

“Goldhead whatever the hell that is,” Betty said. “Maybe all of this started with the seven of them. There's something else. Something we aren't seeing.”

“But it was the Blossom’s who ran the drug ring, not anyone else.”

“We don’t know that. We still don’t know much of anything, this is our chance to find out,” Betty said. Her call finally went through. “Hey, Carol it’s Betty. We found something interesting in the basement of the Whyte Wyrm. Can you please send someone down here?” And she hung up. 

Betty turned to Jughead who was standing in front of a cot that they hadn’t looked at yet.  
“Someone has been sleeping down here. Like last night.” The cot was pushed up against the wall, unmade bedding recently used. On a small overturned crate was a lamp, a leather journal, a shoebox, and a cell phone plugged into the charger in the outlet. Betty picked the phone up. The homescreen was a picture of Snake and Eric from a few years ago. 

“Is that Snakes cell phone?” Jughead asked. 

“Yeah,” Betty said. She went to his most recent calls. “He called Fred the day of the shooting. Just a few minutes before actually. And he’s called Mary, Keller, the police station, Hermione and Hiram in the last twenty-four hours.”

“Maybe he’s been trying to warn them.”

“But where the hell has he been? He hasn’t talked to Eric at all. His son is worried. I figured the shooter had kidnapped Snake for some reason. Now I don’t know. But there has to be a reason he’s been hiding out down here.”

Betty put the phone down and flipped through the journal, and in the middle of its pages was tucked several more copies of the photo of the seven teens. Every picture had a different one of the seven with a red X over their faces. “I’m always the first to defend the Serpents, but this isn’t looking good, Jug.” Betty said. 

Jughead reached to the crate and opened the shoebox. “And it’s looking worse.” He showed what was inside to Betty. “A gun,” he said. 

“Betty, Jughead,” someone said. “Put the gun down and step away.”

They both spun around. It was Sheriff Keller. He was dressed in his police uniform, but for a man who was always pressed and put together, Keller’s hair was falling into his eyes, his shirt untucked, a section of it ripped, and his boots were covered in mud.

“Where’s my dad?” Jughead asked. He set the shoebox and the gun down on the cot. 

“Safe,” Keller replied. Keller held up his hand when Jughead tried to approach him. 

“Where is he?” he asked again. 

Keller reached into his pocket and handed a folded up note to Jughead. Betty read it over his shoulder. 

Trust Keller.

“That doesn’t explain anything,” Jughead said. 

“Is it in your dad’s handwriting?” Keller asked. 

“Yeah,” Jughead. “But it could have been written under duress.”

“It wasn't, I swear.”

“That doesn't mean shit to me,” Jughead said. 

“Fine. I'll call him.” Keller pulled out his phone, dialed FP and put it on speaker phone. 

“I told you he wouldn't believe that bullshit note, Keller,” FP said when he answered. “I'm fine, Jug. I promise. Keller is going to take care of things. I know you and Betty want the truth, but back off from this. I want to keep you kids safe, and Goldhead will get you killed.”

“We saw the barrels. I’ll just assume drugs are inside like the ones you found at the Blossoms,” Betty said even before just could say anything. 

“This goes deeper than some dirty heroin. I love you kids for trying to solve this mystery and help us old folks out, but stop looking right now. Drop it. Keller will clean up this mess. Fred's going to be fine. No one else is going to get hurt.”

“Okay, Dad,” Jughead said. “We'll give it a break. Just promise me you're safe.”

“I'm fine,” FP said after a moment of hesitation. “I'm proud of you, son.” His voice cracked. “Devil called me and told me what you're doing for the Serpents. I'll take over for you as soon as I get out. Then you go to college with that beautiful girlfriend of yours, and the two of you live happily ever after as far away from Riverdale as you can get.”

“We’ll get out of here. I promise,” Jughead said.

Keller held out his hand for the phone, and Jughead gave it to him. “See, FP is fine,” Keller said. “I stashed him in a halfway house over the state line. He's checked in under a fake name.”

Jughead exhaled in relief. His dad was safe, and out of prison, at least for the time being. It felt good to hear FP’s voice. Until now, he hadn't really allowed himself to worry about his dad, but in the back of his mind, all he could think about was what if he never talked to FP again? What if this Goldhead shit got his dad killed. Without FP, he'd have nothing. Expect for Betty. She squeezed his hand now, reminding him where he was. 

“What the hell is Goldhead, Keller? And why is some old secret from your high school days have everyone so worried?”

“How much do you know?” he asked.

“Twenty-five years ago something happened in this basement and it has all of you scared,” Betty said. 

“It’s so much more than what happened here,” Keller said looking around the small closed in room. He tried to say something more, Keller’s walkie crackled to life. An officer was calling for him. “You two need to get out of here.”

“Why?” Betty asked. 

“Because I need to deal with this,” Keller replied.

“Like you dealt with Goldhead?” Jughead asked. 

“Yes,” he stated, his tone heavy. “I cleaned that up then. I’ll clean this up now. Go! I don’t want anyone besides Carol to know that you were here.”

“Are you going to explain what Goldhead is?” Betty asked. 

“Or where you stashed my dad?” Jughead asked. 

“I promise,” he said. “Just give me some time. Go get some rest. I’ll meet you at Archie’s in a few hours, when Mary gets back in town, and we’ll tell you everything.”

“Come on, Jug.” She kissed her boyfriend's cheek, and then turned to Keller. “I sent my mom out of town. Should I have her come back.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Not yet. I'll give you the go ahead once I'm sure it's safe.”

They turned to go, but Jughead had one more question. “Who shot Fred?”

“I think I know,” Keller said. His walkie beeped to life again, and a man called out, looking for him. “The other officers are here. Go!”

Using the same back stairway they'd come through, they left Keller standing in the middle of the room, his hands on hips as he looked around. Jughead wondered just how long Keller has been cleaning up other people's messes. It must be exhausting. Every time he thought Riverdale was that sweet town with pep, someone fucked something up, and Keller was left holding the mop and dirty water. 

“Do you think that Keller knew who killed Jason all along?” Jughead asked. “Maybe he's not the bumbling idiot we think he is. Maybe he was protecting Cliff Blossom.”

“I think I prefer it if he was a bumbling idiot.”

He sighed. If Keller knew who really killed Jason, he'd still arrested his dad, fully knowing that he wasn't guilty. “Me too. Are we really going to stop investigating this?” Jughead asked as he started up the motorcycle. Betty slung her leg over the seat and put her arms around him. 

“Hell no.” She yawned and stretched. “But I am tired. So tired. Let's go home.” She rested her head against his back and closed her eyes.

Home. She'd called his dingy, old trailer home. She was his comfort, his refuge. Betty Cooper was his home. 

Riverdale had come alive in the last few hours. The streets were abuzz with activity, cars driving from here to there, people hustling down the walk, to work, to the store, going about their day, no clue of the seedy underbelly of their picturesque town. Jason Blossom’s murder was a tragedy, yes, but they turned a blind eye everything else-the drug trafficking, the injustices, and the crime. He stopped at a stoplight and watched as a happy family crossed the street in front of the motorcycle. He envied them and their naivety. He wished he could go back to the Riverdale of his youth, before he realized his town was corrupt, before he knew what the word alcoholic meant, before he knew his mother didn't love him. 

They were greeted at the door by Hot Dog. The dog circled Jughead's feet and then pawed at the door. “I better take him for a little walk.”

“I'll make us some lunch,” Betty said.

But when he came back from taking Hot Dog out, he didn't find Betty in the kitchen, but he heard the shower running. The bathroom door had been left open, the steam filtering out into the cold hallway. Jughead adjusted the thermostat before going towards the bathroom.

“Betts?” he called out.

“In here,” she answered.

Betty was singing softly to herself, her pure soprano haunting and clear. She knew he was coming so she wasn’t startled when he pulled back the shower curtain. She didn’t turn around, but stayed how she was, eyes closed, head under the showerhead, back to him. Suds washed from her hair, the bubbly water cascading down her spine, and then flowing over the fullness of her backside. His fingers longed to follow the same course, but he stood where he was, drinking in her beauty, appreciating just how good he had it. 

“You going to get in?” she said over her shoulder.

His erection strained against the zipper of his pants. He was so hard he throbbed. “Hell yeah,” he said. Within seconds, his clothes were on the floor and he was stepping into the tub with her. He pulled the shower curtain closed, locking the heat of the hot water in. 

She still didn’t turn around but pressed herself against him when he stretched his arms around her. From the nitch in the tile wall, he took up the soap. Rubbing his hands together, he worked up a lather, and then he moved his arms around her again, this time so he could reach her front. His fingertips passed over her stomach, and then slipped up to her breasts, washing each thoroughly before squeezing her, pinching her nipples gently. His palms slid down her sides, over the curves of her hips, gripping them tightly, as he spun her around, her back smacking into the blue tile wall behind her. He kissed her neck briefly, biting at her collarbone, before meeting her eyes. Their gaze locked as his hand glided between her legs. She was slick, wet, and wanting. Betty shuddered and clutched at the shower curtain, and as she came pulled the shower curtain off wrung by wrung. He straightened up as she continued to shake. 

“I need to sit down,” she said. “Before I fall down.”

He chuckled, proud that he'd made her feel so good. He held her hand as he helped her out of the bathtub. He set her on the bed so that she could steady herself. He started to sit down next to him, but she caught his hand and brought him to stand in front of her. She took ahold of him, kissed his tip, which had already beaded with moisture. She licked it off. 

She formed a fist around him, tight and strong, stroking him up and down. Her tongue peeked out of her mouth, but she wasn't shy. She sucked the sensitive tip of him first, all while her hand never stopped moving up and down his shaft. Then it was as if her jaw detached when she took him fully into her mouth. He was surrounded by the wet heat of her tongue as she made love to him with her mouth. His fingers wove tightly into her damp hair and he pulled her in, and she didn't stop, didn't let up the hot pressure of her mouth.

“Betty. . .” But he lost all train of thought for a moment. The combination of her hand and mouth moving together was too much. 

But then her mouth came off of him with a pop, a release of suction. Her hand stayed where it was, ever increasing the friction. “Come on me,”she said. He started to nudge her back onto the bed, but she squared her shoulders and would not move. “No, on me.” She continued to stroke him, and perked up her chest, showing him where she wanted him. 

Shit. Was this a real life fantasy, a wet dream brought to life? “Are you sure?”

She looked up at him through heavily lidded eyes. “Yes.” Using her upper arms, she squeezed her breasts together, creating a perfect spot of cleavage for him. And that was all it took. 

After his head cleared, he looked down at the mess he'd made, but Betty didn't mind at all. She dragged her finger through it and sucked it off. “I'm just going to rinse off real quick,” she said before kissing him and excusing herself to the bathroom. He watched her as she walked away, completely naked, completely vulnerable and happy. 

The heat had finally kicked on, so he pulled on only his boxer briefs and went into the kitchen. He brought his cell along with him in case Archie called him. Hot Dog hopped off the couch and was soon as Jughead's heels as he went around the kitchen collecting ingredients for sandwiches. Hot Dog whimpered when Jughead opened the deli turkey. 

“It's not dinnertime,” he said, but he still tossed him a slice of meat. 

The shower turned off and soon Betty came into the kitchen with him. She had on only his S t-shirt, and as she moved every inch of her perfect thighs were exposed. He wondered if she was wearing any underwear. 

She came up behind him as he turned around to greet her. He reached under the hem of the shirt and found nothing but her soft, supple flesh was underneath. “Shit, Betty. I'm getting hard again.”

She pulled back a little to smile at him as she groped him through the front of his boxers. “We could have sex on this kitchen counter again.”

He grabbed her hips, and she gave a little yelp of surprise when he flipped their positions, and folded her onto the top of the counter, the move shaking the bottle of dish soap so hard that it fell into the sink. He shoved the bottom of the shirt up her thighs, exposing her luscious ass. He grabbed onto her, his fingers leaving dents in her flesh. He started to pull down the front of his boxers, but stopped when his phone rang.

“Ignore it,” he said. He placed a hand on her spine, giving him an anchor. But then the phone rang again and again until it vibrated itself into the sink where the soap had landed. 

Jughead let out a string of curse words before letting Betty up and answering the phone. It was Keller. Jughead’s mind was so distracted by what he was about to do with Betty that he wasn't sure he'd heard Keller right. 

Betty pulled her shirt back into place and stood up. “What?” she mouthed. 

“That can't be true,” Jughead said. “There's no way.”

He pressed the speaker button on his phone so Betty could hear. 

“I know who shot Fred,” Keller said. “We just arrested Snake for attempted murder.”


	10. Snakes and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who shot Fred? Is Snake behind this? Will Betty ever get her embroidered jacket from Eric's granny? What really is Goldhead? Will the soap that shooketh the fandom in FP's kitchen ever shake again? Answers below. As always, thank you for reading and reviewing!

Betty stood outside the Andrews's house, pacing on the cement walkway in front of the porch, listening to her phone ring, waiting for Alice to answer. Her mom never picked up, so she slipped her phone in the back pocket of her jeans. After they got the call from Keller, she and Jughead tried to take a nap, but after hours of restlessness, both of them pretending to sleep, they gave up, showered again and headed over to Archie's. Jughead was inside with Archie now, and Veronica had stopped at her parents place. Keller hadn't been in touch yet.

And Betty was outside, staring at the house she once frequented as a girl, and wondering how her perfect, peaceful town had turned into this. When did everyone she cared about being in danger become the norm? She looked up to Archie's window and instead of her best friend, saw Jughead's silhouette against the illuminated curtain. So much had changed in the last few months, the best one being Jughead. Even with all the murder and depression and anxiety, she was happy. The world could be literally falling apart, but having him by her side made everything better.

The snow had turned into slush again, and she shivered in her pink peacoat. She was freezing, but didn't want to go back inside yet. The last forty-eight hours was catching up to her. The meds were working, but a part of her wanted to crawl out of her skin. She sat down on the front steps and inhaled the cool crisp air of the early evening. She felt better, her darkness still kept at bay, but even when she didn't feel it, it was always there, the proverbial elephant in the room that she could never quite ignore.

Her phone rang in her back pocket. "Hey, Mom," she said. "How's Polly?"

"Your sister is fine. What's this I hear about Snake getting arrested for shooting Fred? That's not possible. And Keller won't answer his phone."

"We can't get ahold of him either, but he promised he'd be by Archie's soon to explain everything. But he's not here yet." Mary hadn't shown up either. Her flight should have gotten in an hour ago, but Archie hadn't heard from her.

"Snake didn't do this. There's no way. The man I lo-" She stopped abruptly. "The man I knew from high school was kind and gentle. He's no killer."

Alice Cooper had once loved a man named Snake. A scraggly haired man from the wrong side of the tracks had at one time been the love of her mother's young life. And her mother had also once been a Serpent. The information was still hard to wrap her head around, but that was reality. She and her mother weren't all that unlike, and she wasn't sure if it was a good or bad thing.

"I don't think we truly ever know what someone of capable," Betty said. "I saw the gun and the pictures. It doesn't look good for your former high school flame."

"But when Keller accused Jughead of being involved with Jason's murder, you stood by him. I'm standing by Snake now. I know who he is and he wouldn't do this."

It was almost verbatim of what Betty had said to Jughead in that police station interrogation room. "You're right, Mom," Betty said.

"Yes, I am. Now do what you and Jughead do best, solve the mystery."

"We will."

"But if things get dangerous, you and Juggie get out of there, and come to the address I gave you where Polly and I are."

As she hung up, a beat up SUV pulled up in front of her house. Its engine shut off, and Eric hopped out and started up her driveway. "Eric, over here!" she called out as she jogged over to meet him.

He was pale and disheveled, reminding her of how Jughead looked when he'd found out FP had been arrested. "Hey, I wasn't sure if I should even show my face over here, but my grandma wanted me to give you this." He held up a petite black leather jacket, tossed it to her.

She unfolded it so that she could see the back. The snake embroidery was similar to Jughead's. The two headed snake forming the S looked just as venomous and vicious as Jughead's, but her snakes had vines of roses woven around them. She ran her fingertips over the green and red stitching. "It really is beautiful," she said. "Your grandmother is very talented."

"Thanks." He took a step back, but he hesitated. "You know my dad didn't do this, right? He's getting framed for this just like FP was framed for Jason's murder. This stupid town thinks just because we're Serpents, we're trash-killers, drug dealers, and deviants. You're one of us now, Betty, and my dad needs your help."

"We'll clear his name, I promise."

"Jughead is so lucky to have you. We all are." His phone rang and he looked down at the caller ID. "That's my grandma. She doesn't like to be left alone. I haven't even told her about my dad. It'll break her heart."

"Don't say anything to her. We'll get Snake out."

"Thank you, Betty. Really. Thank you."

As he drove away, Jughead came out of the front of the Andrews's house. "Was that Eric?" he asked.

"Yeah. He wanted to give me this," she said, and held up the jacket.

"Oh," he said with a smile. He took the jacket from her and looked it over. "It's like mine. Granny Snake outdid herself. Want to try it on?"

She nodded excitedly and slipped off her peacoat, and like the gentleman he was, Jughead helped her put on the Serpents jacket. He stood back and admired her. "Gorgeous," he commented. He took her chin in his hand and brought her mouth up to hers. "Beautiful." His words whispered across her lips. "Sexy." His hand slipped under her shirt, his fingers closing around her breast.

"Nice jacket!"

Betty opened her eyes and saw Veronica walking up Archie's driveway. Jughead sighed as he pulled his hand away, and said, "Hey, Veronica. Perfect timing as always."

Veronica came to Betty and kissed both her cheeks as a greeting before brushing off both of her shoulders and looking her friend over. "Is this a mere fashion statement or so much more?" Then she glanced at Jughead. "You, too, Jughead Jones the Third? Is this a couple thing with the matching jackets or do my eyes deceive me? Are you two Serpents now?"

"Serpents," Betty said. "And proud to be."

"Well, good for you both. Because of all this craziness with Mr. Andrews, we've all found out that all our blood runs through the Serpent lineage." Veronica shrugged. "Maybe I should get a jacket myself. I could accessorize the hell out of some black leather."

Jughead scoffed. "You can't just buy a jacket. You have to be invited in."

Veronica giggled. "Well, excuse me for assuming," she said. "But if I heard from Betty correctly, aren't you the crown prince of the Southside?"

"I don't think the Serpents are for you."

"Rude!" Veronica gave a dramatic frown. "I think you forget just how dark Veronica Lodge can go. Full dark, no stars. I think I'd be an asset to the team."

"Then find out what your parents know about Goldhead," Jughead said.

"They don't know anything," Veronica said.

"They have to know something. They were there," Betty said, pulling out the picture again.

"Just because they were there doesn't mean anything," Veronica said.

"Hey!" Archie said. He was on the front porch, bounding down the steps to met them. "What's up, guys?"

"Jughead was just telling me that I'm not good enough to be a Serpent," Veronica said. "And I'm fully offended." Jughead rolled his eyes in response.

"Do you really think Snake shot my dad?" Archie asked. He took the picture and looked at it.

"I don't think so," Betty said.

"Me either," Archie said. The others nodded in agreement. "I just have a feeling it's not him. It's like FP and the Serpents getting blamed for something they didn't do all over again."

Archie was actually making sense and not jumping to conclusions like Betty assumed he would. Maybe her best friend was evolving a little.

"So it could be any of these seven people-excluding Fred of course-that shot your dad?" Veronica said.

"There were at least 8 people there," Archie said, taking the photo back from her. "Someone had to take the picture. Someone was holding the camera."

"Maybe they used a timer," Betty suggested.

"Did they even have cameras with timers back then?" Archie asked.

"It was the 90s, not the Dark Ages," Jughead said.

"Fair enough," Archie said. "But what about that shadow going across the floor? That's definitely the silhouette of someone." He pointed to a long shadow that was cast across the floor of Goldhead.

Betty studied the picture for what felt like the thousandth time, and Archie was right. Both she and Jughead had missed the shadow before. "He's right," Betty said. "Maybe the shooter isn't one of the seven. Whoever took the picture is the person behind this."

"Who else hung out with them?" Archie asked.

"We don't know," Betty said. "Where are your parents, V? They could tell us."

"They hightailed it out of town when I told them what was going on."

"They just left you?" Betty asked. How could her parents abandon her at such a dangerous time?

Veronica shrugged. "They knew I was in good hands," she replied. She put her arm around Archie's waist, and he slung his arm around her shoulder, leaned down to kiss her head.

"Keller still won't answer his phone," Jughead said.

"My mom won't either," Archie said.

"So what do we do?" Veronica asked.

"Stay put?" Betty suggested. "Maybe get a good night's sleep. See what happens in the morning?" She was still so tired. Perhaps after a good night of sleep, she could concentrate.

"That sounds like a perfect plan," Jughead said. "But I'm hungry."

"Dude, you're always hungry," Archie said as he clapped Jughead on the back. "You know what I think sounds amazing? A home cooked meal by your darling girlfriend."

Veronica clapped her hands. "Oh, yes, please, B. You are my favorite cook. I'll help of course."

"Me, too," Jughead said. "I keep trying to cook for you, but keep getting distracted." He and Betty shared a secret smile. They had used FP's kitchen for a lot more than just meals.

"I can help, too, you know," Archie said, pouting a little like they were leaving him out.

"Please don't," Veronica said. And when he frowned, she patted his cheek. "Some of us, like Betty, were born to bring culinary delights into this world-"

"And some of us were born to eat those delights," Jughead interjected, patting his flat stomach. His smile was wide and teasing.

"And some of us were born to looked pretty in the kitchen while the others cooked," Veronica told Archie.

"I should take offense," Archie said.

"But she's right," Jughead said. "He can somehow follow the directions on a frozen pizza box, and still manage to char it into brimstone and ash," Jughead said.

In the Andrews's kitchen. Betty went through the fridge and pantry, and once she'd decided what to make, put Veronica and Jughead to work. Jughead was in charge of thawing and deveining frozen shrimp she'd found in the freezer, and Veronica boiled water and then fettuccine noodles. Betty made a cream sauce while Archie set the table, and no one complained when he added a bottle of wine to the place settings. Within half an hour, the group of friends sat down at the kitchen table and enjoyed a meal, enjoyed each other's company, enjoyed being teenagers. Betty was already a little buzzed when they finished off the bottle of wine, but then Archie went back to the fridge and returned with a six pack of Zima.

"Zima!" Veronica exclaimed. "My mom used to drink this when I was little. I thought it had been discontinued."

"My mom found it at the store. She and my dad were really excited," Archie said. He handed the bottles out, popping off the caps with a bottle opener as he did so. "I guess since she's MIA with the rest of the adults, she won't mind if we have some."

"Where are all our parents?" Veronica asked.

"My mom is in hiding with Polly. FP is squirreled away somewhere. Fred is under protection in the hospital," Betty said.

"I got a text from my mom saying that she's safe, but she's holdup with Keller somewhere," Archie said. "That's all she'll say, just to be patient and not to worry. So for tonight, I say we relax. We deserve it."

"I'll drink to that," Veronica said.

Veronica clinked her glass bottle to Archie's as he sat down next to her again. She snuggled up to him, laying her head on his shoulder. Archie smiled down at her. Betty watched them, her two best friends, happy and in love. They ate their fill of creamy shrimp fettuccine, drank another two bottles of wine, and talked and laughed like it was a normal day. No one was in danger. There wasn't a mystery to be solved. They were just kids having a good time together and that's all that mattered.

Drinking the wine had filled Betty with warmth, a happy tipsiness. She could hardly remember why she'd felt anxious early, could hardly find the wherewithal to be worried about the seven or eight teens from the 1990s involved in Goldhead. And it felt good not to care, not to worry for just a little while.

"I'd like to make a toast," Betty said, coming suddenly to her feet. She swayed a little, but Jughead pressed his hand into her lower back, keeping her steady like always. The wine hit her a little harder than she thought it would. Betty raised her bottle of the fruity flavored beer. "To the four of us-the core four of Riverdale."

"Hey! I thought I was the soul of Riverdale," Jughead said. He was smiling, but he wasn't holding up the bottle like everyone else. In fact, he hadn't even touched the wine glass next to his plate. Her hazy mind tried to make sense of it, and after a moment, she remembered that Jughead had grown up with an alcoholic father. No wonder he wasn't drinking.

She cupped his face. "Oh, Juggie, you are the heart and soul of my world," she said. "The sun and the moon and the stars." She leaned down and kissed him, and for a moment she forgot Archie and Veronica were watching them, so she slipped her tongue into Jughead's mouth. He pulled back a little and chuckled, and she continued her toast. "To being with your soulmate." She raised her bottle and clinked it to everyone's bottle, even Jughead's though he only took a tiny sip before placing the Zima down next to his untouched wine glass.

"To soulmates," Archie and Veronica said in unison before taking a moment to kiss each other.

Betty gazed at Jughead. Even though it was warm, in the kitchen, he still had on his leather Serpents jacket. The dark waves of his hair were falling into his eyes. She brushed the locks back. He looked at her, their gaze fixing on each other. He tugged at her fingers, pulled her down so that she landed on his lap, and he palmed her cheek and gently brought her lips to his. She settled onto him ran her hand down his stomach, and then slipped her hand underneath the hem of his shirt. She kissed his neck, drawing his skin between her teeth. The buzz from the alcohol was morphing into a different tingle. Forgetting again that they weren't alone, she tried to push his jacket off his shoulders. Jughead took her hands in his, stopping her, bringing her back to reality. Her cheeks started to redden when she realized tho overthetop PDA she had just forced Archie and Veronica to witness.

Archie cleared his throat and she turned her head to look at him when he spoke. "Um, maybe get a room?" He giggled and Veronica joined in.

Veronica stood up and offered Archie her hand. "Or maybe we should get a room ourselves and give them a little privacy." Archie stood up, too.

"No, no, no," Betty said, the words slurring together. She got to her feet, and Jughead was right next to her, his arm around her shoulder, making sure she was steady.

"We'll go next door, and leave you two alone," Jughead said.

She bit her bottom lip and tried to organize her thoughts. When nothing coherent formed, she told them the truth. "I'm drunk," she whispered dramatically. She picked up Jughead's wine and downed it, too. For the last few years, Alice had allowed Betty little sips of wine here and there, but she'd only gotten drunk two other times before. Even at Jughead's party, she'd only had one cupful of nasty keg beer.

"We know, Betts," Jughead said with a grin. With his hand on her shoulder, Jughead lead her out of the Andrews's house. With his help, she stumbled through the front yard and up the porch. She shouldn't have let herself get drunk, but she needed to relax, and with Jughead helping her, she could allow herself to let loose. And right now, that was all she wanted, to not be so perfect, to be flawed and carefree.

Once he got her into the house, she closed the door behind them, and immediately pushed Jughead against it. She clawed at his jacket and shirt until he was standing in front of her, naked from the waist up. She undid the snap of his jeans, but then the floor tilted. Her eyes fluttered shut. She'd moved too fast, and suddenly, she was so tired. She laid her head on his collarbone.

"Come on," Jughead said. He held both her hands. "Let's get you sobered up, just a little." He led her upstairs and went into the bathroom she shared with Polly, but Betty stopped him when she realized where he was going.

"No," she said, pulling him back into the hallway. "My parent's tub is nicer. My mom never lets me use it, but she's not here right now."

Jughead followed her into the master bathroom. He ran her a bath as he set her down on the edge of the deep garden tub. He only turned on the soft light over in the attached walk in closet, and lit a few candles that were set around the room. He hadn't put his shirt back on, so the candlelight bounced off his bare torso as he moved about gathering her a fresh towel, a washcloth, and soap.

When the tub was filled, he helped her to her feet, pulled her jacket, and then sweater over her head and her jeans down her legs. Then she sank into the hot water. Leaning her head against the ledge of the tub, she closed her eyes. But when something occurred to her, she sat up, her breasts coming out of the water, the cool air hitting her skin.

"I'm sorry," she said. "If this reminds you of your dad."

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. "You naked in a bathtub? Believe me, FP is the farthest thing from my mind right now."

"No, I mean having to take care of a drunk person. I should have thought of that before I drank a bottle of wine. You're always taking care of someone, Jug. Always taking care of your crazy girlfriend." The bath was already sobering her up, her head beginning to clear.

"Betty. . . You're not crazy and you know it. And you're the one always taking care of me."

"How?" she asked. She placed her forearms on the tub ledge, rested her chin there.

"By always standing by me, loving me, giving me the life I've always wanted. No other person has ever made me feel so whole, so loved. You, Betty Cooper, have made all the difference."

She grabbed the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss her. Her tongue rubbed against his, but before he let it go any further, Jughead straightened back up. "Let me get undressed this time before you pull me into the bath." He smirked down at her as he undid his jeans and boxers, his erection springing free. She sighed at the sight of him. Not only did Jughead know what to do with his hands and mouth, he was also well endowed. It was no wonder he'd made her come a record breaking amount of times in the last twenty-four hours.

She bit her lip as she reached out and stroked him from his base to his tip. He grinned down at her, leaned over to kiss her gently on the lips. "You going to get in this bath with me or not?" she asked.

"Hell yes," he replied. His entry into the tub wasn't graceful, water sloshing over the sides. Betty briefly worried about the mess making her mom mad, but she had time to clean up, and Jughead was distracting her. His mouth was on her neck, his hand sandwiched between them as he groped her breast. His other hand reached lower, easily gliding between her legs. She spread her knees wide, accommodating his girth, his weight settling there.

With both of his hands gripping the sides of the tub, Jughead tried to enter her, but he couldn't get leverage and kept slipping face first into the water. Every time they both giggled until, on the third try, they gave up. Jughead stood up first, and then helped Betty out of the tub. Their bodies were slick as they came in for a passionate kiss, soft lips pressing together, mouths parting as skin slipped against wet skin.

Jughead broke away from her, and he spun her around, her back hitting his front, the water between them turning to mist. His arms went around her middle as he turned her to face the mirror. Their eyes locked in the reflection. One of his hands went to the valley between her thighs, cupping her sex while the other hand palmed her breasts, taking time to bring each one to a peak, nipples hardening. He was breathing hard, the hot air of his breathing tickling against her ear.

His fingertips circled that tight little bud of nerve endings. She quivered at his touch, but when his fingers probed her, Her head fell back against his shoulder. She rubbed her ass against his throbbing erection, Jughead groaning when she continued to thrust backwards. He continued to stroke her until she clenched around his fingers.

Before she could recover, he propelled her forward until she clutched the edge of bathroom sink. But Jughead cleared the top the counter, brushing off the expensive night creams, makeup, lotions, and soap, everything falling into the sink. With the palm of his hand at the top of her spine, he pushed her down until he anchored her on the counter. Then he ran his hand from the nape of her neck all the way to the dip in her spine. He nudged her knees apart, tilted her hips back, and with one shift thrust, he was inside her, deep, filling her.

As he moved within her, she looked up, into the mirror, watching him watching her. His fingers splayed across her back, keeping her still, letting her enjoy every inch of him as he plowed into her over and over. By watching him, she could tell he was getting close. So was she. She arched her back while he reached around to her mons, pressed his fingertips to her, and the world darkened and brightened as their release came in unison.

He smiled at her in the reflection of the mirror as he pulled out of her. He grabbed his jeans from the floor and pulled them on. She was next to get dressed, and as she did, Betty saw that she'd missed seventeen calls from Carol at the police station.

"Carol has been trying to get ahold of us," Betty said. She hit redial for the police station.

Jughead looked over her shoulder. "That's a lot of missed calls. Tell her we were busy having sex on Alice Cooper's bathroom counter."

While he was in the middle of that sentence, Carol answered, so Betty wasn't sure just how much Carol heard. "Betty! Finally. I need you to come to the police station right away."

"Did Keller come back?" Betty asked.

"No, that little shit won't answer his phone. He's MIA. And I'm running this damn police department all by myself!" A phone rang in the distance, and then another one. Carol swore, but kept talking to Betty. "Just get down here and I'll explain everything."

Betty told Jughead what Carol had said to her, and they both got dressed and drove to the police station. When they arrived, the wait room of the station was at least three people deep. Carol struggled to answer phones while people continued to come up to her desk and ask for help. When she saw Betty and Jughead, she slammed down the phone receiver.

"You're here!" Carol exclaimed. "Thank god!" She pushed her way through the throngs of citizens in wait room, and motioned for them to follow her. They ended up in Keller's office. Parked in front of Keller's desk was an old, tube TV and a VCR on a rolling cart. The screen of the TV was black until Carol switched everything on.

"I found the footage from Pop's the Fred was shot."

"The police already saw it," Betty replied. She and Jughead sat on the edge of Keller's desk, almost knocking over Kevin's framed school picture from last year.

"Yeah, but from only one of the cameras," Carol said. "The other camera's footage was erased, but our tech guys figured out how to get it off the hard drive."

The VCR's tape played, and Pop's front counter and entryway came into view. Fred was visible in the booth, sipping his coffee and waiting for Archie. A waitress passed by Fred, stopped for a moment to chat and then moved on.

Then the front door of Pop's swung open, the bell overhead chiming. The masked shooter rushed in, and everything unfolded from there. The shooter hopped onto the counter, grabbed Pops by his collar, and then Archie came out of the bathroom. Fred stood up, his hands out in surrender as the gunman twisted toward him. The shot rang out. Archie rushed to Fred as the assailant ran out. Archie held Fred in his arms, Fred's blood turning black on the black and white screen.

When the tape ended, Betty glanced at Jughead who had tears in his eyes. For most of his life, Fred Andrews had been more of a father to Jughead than FP had been able to. Fred had to pull through, and Betty had to figure out who tried to kill him.

"Rewind it," Betty said.

Everything she'd seen was nothing new, but there had to be something. This camera angle had to have captured something valuable. Carol did as she asked and pushed play again. On the fifth viewing, something clicked. Betty pushed pause on the VCR. The frame was a close up of the shooter as he passed through the entry of the diner.

"There!" Betty exclaimed. The attacker's neck was in full view. "That tattoo!"

"What tattoo?" Jughead asked, coming to stand right next to her. "The rose one? I thought he was completely covered up. You can't see this from the other angels. But it still doesn't tell us who it is."

"Yes, it does," replied Betty. "Snake didn't do this. I know exactly who has a rose tattoo on his neck.

"Who?" Jughead and Carol asked in unison.

"Johnny."


	11. Snakes and Ash

Snakes and Ash

After the TV screen went black again, Jughead said, “So Keller basically showed up just in time to arrest the wrong man, and then disappear again?”

“Looks like it,” Betty said. She turned to Carol. “I want to talk to Snake, and then you need to start the process of getting him released.”

“Keller has to approve releases,” Carol said.

“Well, he’s not here, and if he was, he’d only screw it up,” Jughead said. “Please, take care of it, Carol. You’re the only capable employee at this police department.”

She grinned at him, and then said, “I’ll take you to Snake, and then I’ll start the paperwork to get him released. I’m an expert at forging Keller’s signature.”

She led them out of Keller’s office and back to the holding cells, but left them there. Snake was in the same cell that FP had resided in in for the last few weeks, and Snake’s presence only reminded Jughead of FP’s absence, an absence that would be felt until FP’s return--if his dad ever came back. There was a lengthy trail ahead and another stint in prison. It could be years until he could be with FP again, and for the first time ever, he wanted to be with his dad. Jughead needed him. 

“Hey, kids,” Snake said as they came fully into the room. He stood up from the cot and leaned his arms against the bars, his shoulders hunched. “Eric with you?”

“No, sir,” Betty said. 

“Good,” Snake replied. “I don’t want my boy to see me like this.”

“He knows you’re innocent,” Betty said. “We do, too, and we have proof.”

“What proof?” Snake asked, perking up. “Keller showed me the evidence they found in basement of the bar. It links me to the shooting. I look guilty as hell.”

“But you’re not,” Jughead said. “Carol found new footage from Pop’s, and from this different angle, you can see the gunman’s tattoo on his neck. Betty figured it out.” Jughead paused to look at his beautiful girlfriend, taking time to appreciate just how smart she was. This was the second mystery she’d figured out. Yes, he’d been by her side both times, but Betty was the one who solved the cases. 

Snake grinned, the wrinkles at the corner of his eyes crinkling. He pulled the collar of his shirt away from his neck, showing that there was nothing there. “I don’t have any tatts,” he said. “What is it of?” 

“A big rose, taking up most of his neck,” Betty replied. “I recognized it when I saw the video. It was Johnny in the mask. He’s the one who shot Fred.”

“No,” Snake said, shaking his head. “No, I don’t believe it.”

“Where have you been?” Betty asked, not letting him say anything else.

“Hiding.”

“From who?” Jughead asked. 

“That’s the kicker. I didn’t know twenty-five years ago, and I don’t know now,” Snake said. 

“It’s Johnny,” Betty said. “He’s on the video shooting Fred. He’s the one coming after everyone now.”

“But he was Fred’s friend. He wasn’t even involved in Goldhead. Why would he shot Fred? Why he be terrorizing us now?”

“Because he’s crazy,” Betty suggested, shrugging. 

“No,” Jughead said. He didn’t like when Betty used that word, even to describe someone else. “He must have been involved in Goldhead. Or maybe he knew something.”

Snake shook his head. “It’s not possible. He knows nothing about Goldhead. He wasn’t there that night or any night that Fall. He was locked away at that nuthouse, the Sister’s of Quiet Mercy, and I know because I went to visit Alice, and saw him there.”

He reached through the slats of the bars and took Betty’s hands. “How is your mother? Is she safe?”

“She’s fine. She’s with my sister.”

“Polly?” he said. “I didn’t mean anything by calling that place a nuthouse. Alice wasn’t crazy, just sad.”

“But what about Johnny?” Jughead asked. “You’ve known him for almost thirty years. I’ve seen him lose his temper. Do you think he’s capable of going after everyone? Of shooting Fred?”

Snake thought for a moment. “Maybe. But I know he didn’t do this. He has no reason to.”

“Insanity is a very good motive,” Betty said. “Some people just lose it. And we have concrete evidence.” 

Betty was near enough to touch, so Jughead placed his hand on the small of her back. She was trembling, so he moved closer, put his arm around her shoulder this time. “Beside being a club, what the hell is Goldhead?” he asked. 

Snake sighed. “It was more than the club, more than that cabin you found, more than any of us realized at the time.” He looked down at his booted feet for a long moment, and then back to them, tears in his eyes now. “You saw the drug paraphernalia.”

“It was heroine, like as in Cliff Blossom?” Jughead asked. 

Snake nodded, some of the tears shaking loose, rolling down his cheeks. “But first he tried his hand at meth. Cliff was a few years older, but hung out with us from time to time. He became good friends with Michael James.” 

“The owner of the Whyte Wyrm,” Betty said.

“The very one. Cliff’s family maple syrup business was dying, and he needed to make some money to keep him in the lifestyle he was accustomed to. So he got involved in Hiram and Hermione’s cock figthing ring, with the gambling, but it wasn’t enough.”

“So you’re saying all this links back to Cliff Blossom?” Jughead said. He leaned against the window ledge across from the cell. 

“Doesn’t everything in this town?” Snake asked. “So Cliff started cooking his drugs. Hiram helped facilitate the whole thing. Michael James turned a blind eye to it all, but he knew exactly what was going on in his basement. He got a cut of the profits.”

This was information Jughead had already assumed, nothing all that new, nothing that explained why Johnny had shot Fred. “Who else was there that night?” Jughead asked, pulling out the picture of the seven teens.

Snake took the photo and examined it. “This night,” he said, pointing to the group. “Wasn’t the night it all happened, just a picture someone took of us in happier times.”

“Eric found this picture with your Serpent’s jacket on the front porch of his trailer the night you went missing. Fred’s face was crossed out. We assumed you were next since you went AWOL, but here you are,” Jughead said. 

“I was working late at the garage, and it was hot inside, so I took off my Serpent jacket, and left it on one of the workbenches. When I went to leave, it was just gone. I got this weird feeling, like someone was watching me. The hair on the back of my neck stood up on end, and everything thing just felt off. I’d had this feeling before. It was a chicken shit thing to do, to leave my mom and my boy, but I didn’t know what else to do. It seems like the more people know, the more they are in danger. Twenty-five years ago, someone came after all of us.”

“Johnny?” Betty asked. 

“No. . . I don’t know honestly. The person would leave scary, threatening notes. I don’t know who was behind it, but it terrified me and all the rest of us.”

“Who was harassed last time?” Betty asked. 

“The same people who are running scared now.”

Betty held up the picture again. “So all these people were involved somehow,” Betty said. “They knew what was really happening in the basement.”

“Yeah,” he said as he nodded.

“Who took the picture?” Jughead asked. 

“Johnny,” Snake said. “But that doesn’t mean anything. That doesn’t mean he shot Fred.”

“Maybe not, but that’s what happened. Johnny is the gunman. We have proof,” Betty said.

“But someone must have put him up to it,” Snake said. “You know how Johnny is, Jug. He has a temper, but he’s never really done anything bad. FP has always been good to him, always said that Johnny wouldn’t hurt anyone, gave him a job, brought him into our fold. Someone must have tricked him into shooting Fred. With his mind the way it is, he's easily influenced.”

Snake’s theory wasn’t as sound as Jughead would have liked, but maybe Snake was right. “If you, FP, Mary, and Keller weren’t involved with the drug ring, then why are you all in hiding?” Jughead asked. “What are you so scared of.”

“Of what we did,” Snake said, and his skin turned as white as a man who had seen the devil himself. Snake stumbled back until the back of his knees his the edge of the cot where he sat down. He buried his head in his hands, and his body quaked as he sobbed. 

Betty look at Jughead, and he shrugged not knowing how to comfort a man named Snake. 

“What happened?” Jughead asked for what felt like the thousandth time. 

“We killed a man, all seven of us,” Snake said. 

“As in murder?” Betty asked. 

Snake shook his head so vigorously that his hair shook around his shoulders. “It was an accident, but we killed him just the same.”

“You said that my mom wasn’t involved?” Betty said. 

“She wasn't there, but she knew. They all knew. We all agreed to cover it up, take it to the grave.” He got to his feet and came over to them. “That night we were all at Goldhead, hanging out, everyone except Alice. Most of us were on the dance floor, already drunk, when we heard an explosion. Michael James was in the cooking room, counting money.” He stopped speaking for a long moment. He squeezed the bridge of his nose, like he was trying to ward off a migraine. Or maybe a horrible memory. “Something went wrong. We tried to save him. We really did, but he was so badly burned. He had no heartbeat. He was dead, but we knew if we called Keller’s dad, we’d all go down for the drugs being sold out of Goldhead.”

“But you didn’t do anything wrong,” Betty said. “Cliff Blossom, yes. The Lodges, yes, but not you or FP or the Andrews.”

“Looking back now, I know you’re right, but we were all kids, scared shitless with a dead body in the middle of Goldhead’s dance floor.” 

That’s exactly what FP ended up doing with Jason. The Blossom kid wasn’t the first body he’d hidden. Jughead loved his dad and wanted him out of jail, but FP had done some awful things in his life, and maybe they’d finally caught up with him. 

“Hiram Lodge had an idea of how to cover it all up,” Snake said. Jughead sighed in relief. At least FP wasn’t totally responsible for this coverup. “So Hiram, Cliff, and I loaded Michael’s charred body into the back of FP’s truck.” He paled and then swallowed. “God, his skin was so damaged that it came off in my hands when I lifted him, like a snake shedding its skin. The man we had all come to think of as a second father looked like something hell itself had burned to ash and then spit out.” He rubbed his hands over his face before continuing. “It was an out of body experience. I knew moving the body and not reporting it was wrong, but I let Cliff and Hiram convince me that I’d somehow go down for the death, too. The whole time, I knew it was wrong, but they kept telling me that they were going to tell my mama on me. It would have killed her. So I did what I had to do to protect her. I did something awful.” 

“So we drove him down to Sweetwater,” Snake continued. “We knew about his cabin. He’d let us party there that summer. So we dragged his body inside, but the cabin wasn’t empty like we thought it would be. Inside was Mary, Fred, Hermione, and Keller. God, I can still see the shock on their faces when they saw what we were carrying into the cabin. Mary screamed. Hermione fanted. I think Keller pissed his pants. Fred was the only one with the clear head. He tried to go for the phone to call the cops, but Keller wouldn’t let him, and when Fred fought him, Hiram clocked Fred over the head with the phone receiver. Everything after that went to shit.”

Snake sat back down on the cot again. “Michael James wasn’t dead after all,” Snake continued. “He sat up screaming, and instead of helping him, we all just stood there and watched as Cliff Blossom choked him to death.”

“So Cliff murdered Michael James, not any of you,” Betty said. 

“Technically, yes, but all of us let it happen. We lit the fire, stood outside as the house burned and Michael James shrieked and hollowed, yelled for help. We let him burn, let him die alone, and did nothing.”

“If Michael James is dead, then why are you so scared of him? A dead man can’t come back to life and terrorize the living,” Jughead said. 

“Something’s back,” Snake said. “Someone is trying to wipe us out one by one as payback for killing Michael James.”

“It’s Johnny!” Betty exclaimed. “We saw the footage from Pop’s, and it’s undeniable.”

“He didn’t do this,” Snake said.

“Well, who the hell did?” Betty asked. “You said it yourself that someone is trying to kill all of you. Ghosts can’t walk through the front door of the diner and shoot Fred Andrews. A real person is doing it.” She was agitated, pacing in front of the cell. Something was off with her.

They all looked to the door when Carol came back through it. “I’ve gotten the paperwork started to get Snake out,” Carol said. 

Snake crossed his arms over his chest and sat back against the wall behind his cot. “No, I’m staying put until we find who shot Fred. It’s not safe out there.”

“We know who shot Fred,” Betty said. 

“No, we don’t,” Carol said, interrupting whatever Betty was going to say next. “I had one of the officers pick up Johnny. He’s in the interview room right now for questioning. He has an airtight alibi for the morning Fred was shot.”

“But unless he has a tattoo twin, Johnny is guilty,” Betty said. 

“Where was he?” Jughead interrupted.

“Someplace called the Sisters of Quiet Mercy,” Carol replied. “I guess he goes there once a month to volunteer. They had his name written in the guestbook, and the nurse in charge remembers him being there. He helped her catalogue the library that morning.”

Betty huffed out a laugh. “Sisters of Quiet Mercy isn’t the Alcatraz. My pregnant sister slipped out of there. I’m sure a fully grown man could have checked in for his monthly duties, but snuck out without anyone noticing. He could have taken the short drive back to Riverdale and shot Fred in the stomach,” Betty said. “We know who did this now.”

“No, we don’t,” said Snake said. 

“Carol said it was some Serpent named Johnny. She said he was crazy enough to do it.”

“That doesn't mean he did it, though,” Jughead argued.

“You’re just afraid to admit that Johnny might have snapped,” Betty said. You’re scared to say the word crazy because you know your girlfriend is a nutjob, too. You know that I have the ability go into a blind rage and act out. I choked Hiram Lodge for god’s sake. If you admit that Johnny could do it, you’d have to admit that your sweet, perfect girlfriend could do the same thing.”

“Betty, stop,” Jughead said. He tried to grab her arm, but she pushed away from him. She didn't turn around when he called her name again. 

“Where are you going?” Jughead asked, following her out.

“To talk to Johnny,” she said. “To prove to you both that he did this.”

Jughead and Carol were behind Betty as she wove her way through the desks in the front office of the police department until they all reached the integration room. Betty pushed the door, and when she stopped short, Jughead ran into her back. He looked over her shoulder to see the empty room.

Carol went over to the table, where an unlocked shackle lay on the floor beside the vacant chair. “I don't understand,” Carol said. “He was locked up tight.” She held up the chain, and when she did Jughead noticed the lock was still in place, but the chain had been cut apart.

“Someone let him out,” Jughead said. “Someone walked into the Riverdale police station with bolt cutters and freed him.”

“That's not possible,” Carol said.

“Anything is possible with these idiot police officers you have working here,” Jughead said. 

“Touche,” Carol said. 

Then Jughead noticed a worn, faded folder tucked underneath Carol’s arm. “What is that?”

“Oh,” she said, looking down at her file in her hand. “I overheard you all talking about Michael James, so I got curious and looked up his autopsy report.” She opened the file, but it was empty, not a single scrap of paper. 

“So?” Jughead said. “I’m sure someone just misfiled it or lost it.”

“Or maybe Michael James isn’t as dead as we thought,” Betty suggested.


	12. The Hit List

Betty paced the area in front of her bed, something she had done so frequently that she was surprised that she hadn’t worn the carpet bare. She checked her watch, and calculated in her head how many hours until she could take her meds again. She’d been here before, regulating herself when she started a new dose or a new medication. It was always like this in the beginning, feeling crazier than usual until the meds settled into her blood, her brain, until it lessened her anxiety. 

She’d been extra sensitive tonight, especially talking about Johnny, who was maybe just as nuts as she was. It terrified her to have something in common with the person who had shot Fred and was currently terrorizing Riverdale. And it was Johnny. Even if he had an alibi, she knew it was him, but Jughead was right about Johnny not having an apparent motive. She was still working on the reasoning, but it had to be there. It had to be more than the fact that Johnny was a little unhinged. That was why she’d been so defensive when Jughead wouldn’t admit that Johnny, without a motive, just snapped. Johnny was just as crazy as Jughead’s perfect girlfriend. She’d been rude and short with Jughead when he had tried to comfort her in the police stations, and that was why she was alone now, pacing in her bedroom, trying to give them both a little breathing room.

Out of breath, she sat at the foot of her bed, sighing as she looked out her window and into Archie’s bedroom across the way. Jughead and Archie were sitting on Archie’s bed as they played video games and talked. Jughead had wanted to check on Archie when they got back from the police station and fill in his best friend on the things that they had learned from Snake. Jughead noticed Betty now, smiled and waved, his eyes lighting up. She waved back, but turned away, and left her bedroom. 

For the life of her, she couldn’t reconcile why Jughead loved her. She was far from the perfect girl he thought she was. She was a ball of anxiety and depression, neurotic and obsessive, and prone to self-harm. He deserved better than her, but for some reason he stuck by her. And she would always be worried he would change his mind, always be waiting for him to leave her.

Her phone chimed in her pocket, so she took it out, and read the text from Jughead. 

I love you.

How did he always know when she needed a little extra boost, a touch of reassurance, an extra word of love, a reminder that, despite her fears and misgivings, he wasn’t going to desert her? 

She went downstairs to the living room, and curled up on the couch, wrapping herself in a quilt that Hal’s grandmother had made almost a hundred years ago. Her paternal grandmother was a Blossom, making her a Blossom, which by blood made her a relative of two murders--Cliff and great-grandpappy Blossom, both who had murdered their own kin. Genetically, the odds were stacked against her. Murderers on one side, crazy from her mother on the other side. 

Her terrifying family tree was too much to think about, so she closed her eyes, settled back against the pillows of the couch, and it wasn’t long until she nodded off. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been out when she heard Jughead say her name as he nudged her shoulder. She instantly smiled and pulled him down to her. He settled between her legs. 

They had a million important things to discuss, everything Snake had told them about Goldhead and Michael James, who maybe wasn’t dead after all, the fact that all their parents were in hiding and in danger, the evidence that Johnny shot Fred, and so much more, but that wasn’t what she asked. 

“Do you love me?”

“More than anything in the world,” he replied. “Are you okay?” He pulled back a little so that he could look down at her.

Honestly, she wasn’t sure herself, so she said, “I’m sorry about earlier. But I was kind of a bitch, and I’m sorry. When I start meds, I can be a bit on edge, and all this talk of craziness makes me a little sensitive. I shouldn’t take it out on you.”

“I know you don’t mean it. It’s okay.”

“Is it, Jug? This might be something I never get over. Broken things don’t always heal.”

“But sometimes bones can be stronger in the places they were once broken.”

She sighed and scooted out from underneath him, and on her knees, she sat away from him on the opposite side of the couch. As much as Jughead loved her, as much as he tried to understand, he’d never really get it. He didn’t have a mental illness that he constantly fought. 

“This isn’t a hairline fracture in my femur. This is my brain and it’s always been a little messed up. What if--” At the thought that her mental illness could drive them apart one day, emotion overtook her. “What if it becomes too much for you? What if I end up crazy, like really crazy? Running naked down the street, arguing with invisible people, or in the bathtub with slit wrists?”

“You won’t, Betty,” he said. 

“With my DNA, it’s a strong possibility that I’ll really go nuts. I’m related to the Blossoms, a family tree that has at least two confirmed murderous branches. Then there’s my mom’s side of the family, where every woman seems to go crazy. That’s what’s in store for you, Jug. A life with an insane person. Just because I’m taking medication right now and it’s working, it doesn’t mean anything. I might relapse. The drugs could stop working. There is no guarantee.”

“You’re right. There’s not. There are no guarantees in life, but I know for certain that I want you, just how you are.”

“I’m anxious and sad and flawed.” Why did he love her? She thought after she put her insuffisances into words. 

“That’s not all you are. You’re also kind and selfless and smart and strong and brave.” He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, wiping the tears away. “I love you, and whenever you’re worried, I’m here to reassure you. I will never change my mind about you. I’m here forever, Betty Cooper. If we weren’t only sixteen, I’d marry you tomorrow. One day I want you to be my wife, the mother of our children. All I see in my future is you.”

She grabbed him by the collar of his Serpent jacket, pulling him into her. She spread her legs, letting him settle there. He kissed her neck as his hand traveled between their bodies, slipped underneath the soft wool of her sweater, her body reacting instantly, nipples stiffening into hard peaks. And for the moment, they were just two teenagers fooling around on the living room couch while their parents were away. 

She tilted her pelvis up in a grinding motion against his erection, causing him groan against her throat. He unfastened her jeans and pushed them down her legs, and he slid his hand into the front of her panties, finding her hot and wet, her sex swollen with desire. His fingers curled upwards in a come hither motion, coaxing her interior wall, making her squirm beneath him. She throbbed against his hand as his thumb stroked that magic spot. She tried to hold off, to make it last, but when he whispered against her ear, “I can feel you coming,” she instantly quickened around his fingers. 

On her back, she stared up at the ceiling as she reclaimed her senses, but before she could recover, Jughead was above her, his hands on her breasts, drawing one into his mouth, tugging at it with an almost desperate hunger. Then he moved down her body, pausing to press his face into the softness of her stomach before going lower. Suddenly he was pulling down the couch, repositioning her until she was sitting on the cushion and he was on the floor, posed between her thighs. 

Using his thumb, he spread her sex apart, exposing her. He dipped his tongue into her, going deep, lapping up her sweet dewiness. His tongue curled around that tender bud of flesh, then it stroked and teased until her quaking inner thighs pressed into his ears. Her breathing became choppy as he gently sucked her center into his mouth. She clutched at the fabric of the couch cushions as she came against his mouth. 

Surprising her, he scooped her up, and she was so slick with sweat that she hoped he wouldn’t drop her. He hoisted her up, her legs going around his waist. He moved them across the living room until her back came into contact with something solid. At first she wasn’t sure where they had ended up, but when she reached behind her for a stronghold, her fingers clutched the edge of the bookshelf, almost knocking over a Cooper family portrait. What would Alice say if she knew that Betty and Jughead were currently desecrating the living room furniture while she was away. 

He drove himself upwards and into her, imbedded so acutely that it took her breath away for a moment. His jaw clenched and his eyes locked onto hers as he began to thrust into her, over and over, every time harder and deeper than before. The lonely boy from the Southside and the flawed girl from the Northside melded together, no space between them, closer than close. Together they would never be alone, together they were perfect. 

He buried his face in her neck, kissing, licking, nipping at the pulse in her throat. He gave one final thrust as she climaxed, her interior walls cinching around him, and he lost himself in her. He cried out her name, and then slumped forward against her. 

After a moment, he picked her up again, and then both collapsed on the couch. They lay there, side by side, sweating and breathing hard. After a moment, Betty giggled. “Jug, that was amazing. I know I say this every time, but the best we’ve ever had.” She turned slightly and kissed his cheek.

“It’s amazing because of you.”

They lay there for a few more minutes, and then Betty said, “I really think Johnny did this.” The respite from the detective work was nice, but they still had a mystery to solve.

“But he has an alibi,” Jughead replied. He reached down and grabbed his shirt from the floor, pulled it over his head. 

“That doesn’t necessarily mean anything,” Betty said. “People lie to cover someone they care about. You told me that Fred told Sheriff Keller that you were working for him when Jason was shot, giving you a much needed alibi.”

“But that was different. I didn’t do.”

“Juggie, you yourself told me that Johnny was prone to violence. Hell, he slashed your tires and threatened both of us with a knife after all. There’s something not right with him. We both felt it when we saw him in the bar the first time. I know you don’t like to admit it, but Johnny is crazy. We all know it, and we have proof. You saw the shooter on the video and you saw his tattoo. It’s the same one that Johnny has.”

“Honestly, all I know for sure is that Johnny has some tattoos. I don’t know what they are of or where they are on his body.”

“Well, let’s find out.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asked. 

“That we go to his place and look around,” Betty said. “Johnny ran for a reason. Only guilty people flee.”

“He could be scared,” Jughead said.

“Scared and guilty. We need to get into his house. Maybe he has a picture of himself where you can see his neck tattoo. You know where he lives, right?” She clasped her bra together, slipped on her shirt and jeans, and had her shoes on before he could argue anymore. 

He chuckled. “Yeah, I do. In my trailer park, actually.” He sat down next to her on the couch, and laced up and tied his boots. “This isn’t the first time in our relationship that you’ve had me chasing a suspected killer in the middle of the night. Doesn’t anything scare you?” 

She shrugged. “Of course I’m scared,” Betty said. “But we have to know the truth. We have to solve this. I want Snake freed. I want all of our parents home. And I want to feel safe at night. I want the Riverdale back that we knew when we were kids. Maybe its innocence was forever tarnished by Jason’s murder, and the drugs, and the Northside and Southside fighting, but I want to salvage as much of our little town as I can.”

“I want the same thing.” He helped her put on her Serpent jacket before he put on his own. “You’re the bravest person I know.” He took her hand and smiled. “Let’s go hunt for a maybe-murderer in dark, creepy trailer park.”

She climbed onto the back of his motorcycle and wrapped her arms around him as he revved the engine. She pressed the side of her face into his back, trying to shield herself from the freezing wind that whipped around them. The motorcycle might make Jughead even hotter to her, but she missed the rusty, old truck. At least it was warmer. 

He parked in front of a trailer that just a few spots down from his. This one was upkept, a fresh coat of paint visible when the flood light came on. The ground of the trailer park was still muddy and damp from the snowy rain Riverdale had been having lately. The motorcycle’s kickstand sunk into the ground when Jughead cut the engine of the bike. He got off first and then helped her off. 

“What if he’s here?” Jughead asked, pausing at the foot of the stairs.

“Then we say we’re here to check on him. He doesn’t know that we know he was arrested,” Betty said. She didn’t wait for him as she bounded up to the small wooden porch. She knocked on the door. When no one answered, she crouched in front of the doorknob, pulled a bobby pin from her ponytail, and went to work until the lock popped open.

“I love you,” Jughead said in awe of her skills.

“I love you,” she said over her shoulder. She gently pushed open the front door. 

Jughead was right behind her as they entered the trailer, but he quickly stepped in front of her once they were in the foyer, waiting to protect her. “Hello?” he called. 

Betty stepped around him. “Let’s split up. I’ll take the bedrooms and you take the kitchen and living room.”

“No,” he said, taking her hand. “We stick together. If you’re right about Johnny, and I’m pretty sure that you are, then he’s more dangerous that I thought, and I was already a little nervous around him.”

“If it wasn’t Johnny, who do you think did it?” Betty asked, curious of who he suspected. 

“I don’t know. The only person with a real motive is Hiram. Fred had an affair with his wife. But Hiram was still in jail at the time of the shooting, and we can tell from the video that the shooter was a man. So that leaves FP, Snake, and Keller. We can count out the women,” Jughead said. 

“I don’t think we should exclude them from suspension,” Betty said. “Not totally. Someone freed Johnny, she could have been female. There might not be just one person behind this.”

“True,” Jughead said. “Johnny must have a partner.”

Betty stopped in the hallway when they came to a grouping of pictures. Most of the framed photos were of Johnny as a child. One of him when he had lost his two front teeth, probably in the second grade. He was standing on a cracked, uneven sidewalk, the faded yellow lines of a parking look visible. One of him as a toddler, holding onto a rickety, scuffed up barstool for a balance. 

“Is he in a bar?” Betty asked after looking. “Is he in Goldhead?” she asked. 

“Look at this one, the one where he’s blowing out birthday candles,” Jughead said, pointing to the one next to it. “He’s sitting in a booth with ripped vinyl seats. And this one when he looks about twelve, he’s in the basement. He’s in the Whyte Wyrm.”

“And here he is with his arm slung around Cliff Blossom and an old man whom I assume is Michael James. Johnny is maybe in his late teens here, which would be around the time of Goldhead, and you can see that rose tattoo on his neck.”

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Jughead said. He took a picture of it with his cell’s camera. “We’ll take this to show Carol once we’re done here.”

Betty pushed open the final bedroom door and flipped on the lights. In the corner was a portable bulletin board with blown up pictures of the seven teens tacked to it. 

“Well, lookie here! A murder board!” Jughead said. “Guess you were right, Betts.”

“I’m always right,” she said before leaning in to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Now do you believe me?” 

“Yeah, but I still don’t see his motivation. And who the hell broke him out of the Riverside police department?”

“Could have been anyone.”

“But who?” 

Betty shrugged, and then went over to get a closer look at the board. “So everyone is here,” she pointed out. “Fred has an X, Hiram, too. And your dad, and Keller. Every single one of them is X’ed out. Does that mean he’s going to try to kill everyone? Our parents aren’t as safe as they think. I’m going to call Keller.” Betty started to dial his number, but stopped when Jughead spoke. 

“Holy shit.” He drew her attention back to the murder board. “Cliff Blossom is here, too,” Jughead said, pulling his picture off the board. “He’s X'ed out.”

“Oh, god,” Betty said. “It’s a photo of Cliff Blossom strung up in the barn and Hornhill. Who, besides the police, would have taking this?” 

“Cliff Blossom’s murderer,” Jughead suggested. “Cliff must have crossed him too many times.”

The revelation that Johnny murdered Cliff was big enough, but Betty felt like there was more, something else she needed to figure out. She pushed against the bulletin board, turned it around until the opposite side of it was showing. There was only one picture pinned on the felt board. It was of her, Jughead, Archie, and Veronica, sitting in a booth at Pop’s. She recognized the outfit she had on. The picture was taken on the night of the Jubilee, and Johnny had taken it without them noticing they were there. But that wasn’t the scariest part about all of it. 

Every one of their faces was covered by a thick red X. 

“Shit,” Jughead said. “It looks like we’re next on his hit list.”


	13. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll Hurricane Irma is headed my way. I'm freaking out a little, even though I'm a Florida native. It should be a Cat. 1 by the time it gets to me, but I'm still deciding if I should bounce or stay. So for now, here's an update for you. Even if I lose power, I'll write by candlelight. Hugs and Kisses.

“Honestly, I’m not surprised,” Betty said. “It was just a matter of time until he figured out we were onto him.”

“Or he could only know we're the children of some of the people involved with Goldhead. We better call Kevin and Eric, too. They aren't safe either.” 

“We've got to tell Carol and our folks. Warn everyone. Where's your dad, by the way?” Jughead asked.

“Out of state on a business trip. He wasn't one of the seven, so I'm not worried about him.” Betty glanced over her shoulder to the darkened hallway. “I wonder how long Johnny has been watching us.” 

The thought of someone spying on them, especially Betty, enraged him. He didn't like the idea of some creep watching her, and worse he didn't like that he'd ever left her unprotected. He took a picture of the photo of the four of them, and turned the board around the way they'd found it. He didn't want Johnny to know they'd been here, especially if he was going to target them now because they were the children of the seven. He didn't want to give Johnny even more reasons to go after them. He photographed the entire murder board, and stopped when he came to the picture of a dead Cliff Blossom. 

“You think he murdered Cliff, too?” Betty asked noticing he was fixating on that picture.

“He had to have. I always thought Cliff’s death was fishy. I read in the police report that Penelope and Cheryl calmly directed the police to Cliff’s body hanging in the maple syrup cellor. One of the cops recorded how eerily tranquil the two women were. You know Cheryl. She's dramatic over everything. If she knew her father was hanging himself, she would have gone ballistic. And Penelope Blossom isn’t known for her cool head either. I never believed that Cliff killed himself, even with the truth out that he murdered Jason. Cliff doesn't seem like it suicidal type.”

“Snake said that Cliff Blossom got his start in the drug business at Goldhead. None of our parents knew about it, but Johnny must have been involved, way back then, too, and I bet you now that he’s been in the drug business this whole time. He has to be the one who’s been selling on the Southside!” she exclaimed, snapping her fingers.

Jughead jestered around the clean, but sparsely furnished bedroom. “And why would a drug dealer with all his drug money, live here at Sunnyside Estates with all us other poor miscreants?” 

She shrugged. “Maybe Cliff Blossom tricked him into not getting the cut of the profits he deserved. That's motive to kill Mr. Blossom. And you saw the picture of Cliff, Johnny, and Michael James in the hall. Maybe Michael James screwed him over, too.” 

“Then why would Johnny be trying to avenge Michael James's death twenty-five years later?” Jughead asked. “If he hates Michael James like he hated Cliff Blossom, then he'd be glad the seven teens from Goldhead burned him alive.”

“I don't know,” she said. “But I'm going to call Carol and have her send some trusted officers out here to catalogue the evidence we found. With the pictures of Johnny and the other stuff that we found, they’ll have enough cause to arrest him. If they can find him.” She thought for a moment. “Where do you think he is?”

He started to answer, but was interrupted by the ringing of his cell phone. 

“Dad?” Jughead said when he answered his phone and heard a familiar, deep voice. “Thank God you called. We know who shot Fred and who is after everyone.”

“Johnny?” FP said, like he'd always known the answer. “And I know why Fred got shot.” Jughead sat on Johnny’s couch, and Betty followed suit, taking a moment to text Carol what they’d found and that they needed an officer to come out and take a look. 

“With the twenty-five year anniversary of Michael John’s death, Fred was getting antsy,” FP said. “He might have been unconscious when we burned down that cabin, but he knew just like the rest of us. And like always, even though his conscience told him otherwise, he kept the secret, to keep me safe and out of trouble. Fred Andrews is a good man and didn’t deserve what he got. A week ago, he went to Sheriff Keller and wanted to fill out a police report about what happened at Goldhead. He figured since I was already locked away, I’d be safe. But Keller refused, saying some bullshit about the statute of limitations being reached. He just didn’t want to get his own lily white ass in trouble. Re-election is coming up, and the good people of Riverdale would vote him out if they knew he’d been an accessory to murder.” 

“Where are you?” Jughead asked. “We’ll come get you. Keep you safe.”

“I can’t tell you, son.”

“Why not?” Jughead asked. “I want to see for myself that you’re okay.” His eyes misted with tear.

“I’m okay, Jug. I want to see you, too. It kills me that you and Betty are dealing with this and I’m not there to protect you kids, but I have to stay put. If I run, I’ll have a longer sentence, and--” He stopped speaking, and even through the phone Betty could hear FP Jones, feared leader of the Serpents, quietly crying. “And I can’t take that chance. I’ve got to get back to you. I want to be there on your graduation day. I want to see you walk Betty down the aisle. I want to rock your babies to sleep like I used to do to you. So I have to sit tight, do what I’m told, and by the grace of God, I’ll be let out soon on good behavior.” 

Jughead cupped his hand over his mouth, trying to stop the sob. After a moment, he used the back of the sleeve of his leather jacket to wipe his face clean. “Stay safe. Betty and I are going to do everything we can to get you out.”

“Oh, I know you will. You and your smart girlfriend are going to save my life.” In the distance, there was a commotion on the other end of the phone, men yelling, something heavy hitting the ground. “I’ve got to go,” FP said.

“What was that? Are you okay.”

“I’m fine,” he replied. “Nothing to worry about.”

“I miss you, Dad,” Jughead said. 

“Miss you, too.” And then he hung up.

Betty reached for him, and Jughead collapsed onto her, laying his head into her lap. She removed his cap and ran her fingers through his hair. He angled himself into her, his face against her belly, breathed in the sweet scent that was solely Betty. His arms tightened around her waist, his fingers clutching at the soft wool of her sweater. 

“I know he's not a good man,” Jughead said. “But he's my dad and I love him. I want him back.” 

She leaned over him and kissed his temple. “We'll get him back, Juggie, and he is a good man. A man that loves his son and is proud of him.” She brushed his hair out of his eyes as he turned his face up to look at her. 

He reached up, curled his hand around the back of her neck and drew her down so that his mouth could brush against hers. His tongue slipped in between her lips as his other hand brushed underneath the hem of her sweater so he could palm her breast.

“Jug,” she whispered. “Maybe hooking up on a crazy murderer’s couch isn't the best idea.”

He chuckled as he removed his hand from her sweater. “I guess you're right.” He sat up and got to his feet, pulled her up, too. “You're just so hot that sometimes I'd risk death just to get into your pants.”

She kissed his cheek, and he clutched her hand, and they left Johnny’s trailer, took the short drive to FP’s place, and parked his bike. He let Betty in and locked and bolted the door behind them. Hot Dog was asleep on the couch, looked up at him briefly, and went back to snoring. Jughead shouldered off his jacket, helped Betty off with hers, and hung both in the closet. 

“I’m going to call my mom,” Betty said. “Maybe we should call everyone.”

“And tell them what?” he asked. “They already know that they should be onguard.”

“At least we know now who’s behind this,” she said. “We can at least tell them who to look out for.”

As Betty stepped away to make her calls, Jughead fed Hot Dog, and the sound of dog kibble clinking into his bowl was enough to rouse him. Jughead pet his dog, ruffling his white fur. “You’re a good boy.” He crouched down and smiled as Hot Dog licked his hand. He and Jelly Bean had both begged and begged for a pet, and now that he finally had one, he wished his sister was here with him to enjoy it. Thinking back to his younger years, it wasn’t FP who had refused getting him a dog, but his mother. He’d always put so much blame on FP for his shitty childhood, but now with a little retrospect and maturity, he realized that it had been more of Gladys’s fault. Yes, FP drank and didn’t have the best track record of staying employed, but his mother had always been so cold and distant while FP, when he was sober, was tough but always loving. It was FP who slept night after night with Jughead in a narrow twin bed when a five year old Jughead had nightmares. It was FP who had give Jughead his Macbook one Christmas a few years ago because he wanted his son to be a writer. Sure, the laptop had been stolen, but it was the thought that counted, right? Gladys had been there most of his life, but never there for him, never there for JB either.

And even now when Gladys knew full well that FP was in prison and Fred was in the hospital, she hadn’t even called to check on her son. She hadn’t stepped in when social services had assigned him to a foster family. She’d rather Jughead live with strangers than to actually take responsibility for him.

He glanced down the narrow hallway of the trailer to Betty as she paced a small patch of carpet in front of his childhood bedroom as she talked to her mom. God, he was fortunate. All his life, he had yearned to have someone love him. Now he had Betty, the epitome of love and acceptance. 

Hot Dog hopped off the couch and pawed against the front door. Jug let him out, following him onto the front porch while the dog did his business in the yard. The rain had stopped, but white, fluffy snow clouds covered the sky, for the time being, holding what little heat was left from the sunshine of the day.

Propping his arms against the wooden railing, he looked out into the dark trailer park. As a kid, he'd been ashamed to live here. It took him until the fourth grade to trust Archie enough to invite him over. He'd expected a ten year old Archie to make fun of his neighborhood, but Archie had thought it was cool how the trailer park had its very own playground and had been fascinated by the idea that all the houses were mobile. He looked out at the rusty mailbox. His dad had hand painted their last name onto it. Now he was the only Jones left at Sunnyside trailer park. And it hadn't been that bad of a place to grow up. He'd been safe, had a roof over his head and a warm bed. It was more than a lot of people had. 

The neighbors hadn't been bad either. Most of them Serpents, the residents had always been nice to him when everyone else in Riverdale seemed to want to make his life hell. Not a single light was on, every neighbor sleeping. From the vantage point, he could see the side of Jonny's trailer. The lights were still off, no one home. Hot Dog bounded up the steps, sat at his heels for a moment. Jughead ruffled the dog's fur, taking time to scratch him behind the ears. Hot Dog perked up when he heard the front door open. Betty came out, and Hot Dog darted inside before the door shut.

She joined him at the railing and rested her back against the side of the trailer. Ready for bed, she'd changed into his S t-shirt, but because of the cold, had slipped her pink peacoat on that he'd washed for her. Her usually ponytail had been taken out, her hair falling around her shoulders. 

“Carol says to sit tight for now,” Betty said. “I called Veronica, and she and Archie think we all should be together. We’re going to meet at my house in an hour, Eric and Kevin, too. I figured safety in numbers. We’ll all hunker down together until we know our next move.”

He sighed as he looked out at what was now his domain. The park was what most Riverdale would see as dirty and rundown, but it was his. The Serpents were an unruly band of miscreants, but they were his people. The Southside was his town, something that he could be proud of, and that was all that mattered to him. 

“Hey,” she said, her voice just above a whisper. “What are you thinking about, Jug?”

“The Serpents. I hope there isn’t going to be even more of a fallout from this for them. And this time a Serpent actually is to blame for everything. I hope the town doesn’t hold it against all of them.”

“They will,” she said, and she was right. “But the Serpents will get through this. We have a strong leader.” She kissed his cheek, and started to pull away, but he caught her chin in his hand. 

“You’re so beautiful, Betty.”

“I’m so tired,” she said with a sleepy smile. 

“Me too. This will all be over soon. Maybe we can get back to our normal life.”

“I’ve forgotten what normal feels like.” She sat on the railing again, leaning against the yellowing siding of the trailer.

“I’m glad all this murder and mayhem brought us together, but I wish this wasn’t our lives. I wish it was simple. I wish our parents weren’t in danger. I wish we weren’t either.”

She’d washed her minimal makeup off, the circles under her eyes a little more visible now. They needed a break, but for now all they had were these few stolen moments in between investigations and jail visits and worrying about their parents’ safety. Soon they were going to be back in the thick of it. All they had was right now, and he wasn’t going to waste it. 

Without a word, he moved on her suddenly. He untied her coat, shoved the offending fabric aside. He pressed his hand over her heart, against her breastbone, the tips of his fingers pressing into the base of her throat. He pushed the collar of the t-shirt aside, dipped his tongue into the recess of her collarbone, kissed, and nibbled there. He moved her back against the outside wall of the trailer, rucked up the t-shirt up, and he swore when he realized she didn't have a bra or panties on. Without even touching them, her breasts were pointed, nipples puckered and stiff. He bent and lavished one of the tips, swirling his tongue around it. Her head fell back against her shoulder, her eyes closed, eyelashes brushing her cheeks. She fed her fingers through his hair, bracketing the back of his head with her hands, keeping his mouth where it was. 

His hand moved between her legs, and despite the cold, she was warm and wet with need for him. His fingers hovered at her entry, but before he could touch her, her hands clamped over his and her eyes flew open. 

“Maybe we should go inside,” she suggested. She looked over his shoulder, scanning the darkness. 

“Don't worry. No one can see us. The entire park is asleep.”

She started to move from the ledge of the railing, but instead of letting her go, Jughead’s fingers plunged into her. And she didn't resist, didn't argue. Instead, her hips ungulated forward, meeting each thrust of his hand with her own. But he didn't let her come. As he removed his hand, her eyes fluttered open.

“Why'd you stop?” she asked. Her legs looked as steady as liquid as she slid from the railing and onto her feet. 

“I don't want you to come until I'm inside you,” he said.

“So you just wanted to tease me?” He nodded as she walked forward until she grabbed his shoulders, turned him around. Their positions reversed, his back against the wall of the trailer now. She unbuckled his belt, and yanked it off with such force that he was surprised that she didn't rip a belt loop in the process. She tossed the belt to the porch, the buckle clanging against the wood. She sank to her knees, unzipped his jeans, and pulled him free of his boxers. The night air was cool, but her stroking hand was warm. Her was mouth warmer. The movement of her tongue, the heat of her mouth as her lips wrapped around him. Her tongue swirled around the tip, lapped up the beads of moisture there. He tried to be patient, but couldn't. His fingers tunneled through her blond hair and he thrust gently into her mouth. She took him in deep. He felt his sanity slipping, his control gone, so he pulled away from her. She sat back on her heels, and smiled up at him, her lips shiny with dampness. She started to get up, but he stopped. 

“Stay where you are.” 

He moved behind her, pushed her shoulders gently until she dropped to her hands and knees, on all fours in front of him. Bent over like she was, her backside was completely visible, the moonlight playing over her bare skin. Her choppy breathing was the only sound in the quiet trailer park. After a moment, he entered her. She pushed her hips backwards, her ass hitting his front, their skin slapping together. His arms went around her waist and he folded himself against her. For balance, Betty gripped the slats of the porch as he plowed into her over and over again.

By the time it was over, they were both panting and sweaty. Jughead fell backwards, bringing Betty with him. He held her hand as they both lay on the wooden porch, staring up at the white pricks of the stars against the black night sky. They'd be freezing soon if they didn't get dressed and get back inside, but Jughead was too sedated to move, and he would have probably fallen asleep if Betty hadn't sat up abruptly. She tired her peacoat around her waist and twisted her body around as she looked through the yard to the trailers surrounding them. 

“I know you said that everyone in the park is asleep,” she said. “But what if someone looked out their window at the exact time we were having animalistic sex on the front porch if FP's trailer?”

“Then we have them a good show,” he said, grinning. He readjusted his underwear so that he was decent. He stood up and hauled Betty to her feet. She smoothed the t-shirt down to cover her legs.

They went back inside and into the bedroom where Jughead began to pack a bag for Betty's house. As always, he gathered the essentials first. Packing up his life into a backpack had become second nature.

“I just thought of something,” Jughead said. “Something that’s always bugged me about Johnny’s alibi. You said you think that someone at the Sisters of Quiet Mercy lied for him. Why don’t you call, pretending to be Alice. I saw that check stub that your mom wrote to them. She’s given the Sisters a lot of money. They would tell her the truth.”

“You’re right,” Betty said. She dialed, and they waited on speaker phone for an answer. 

“Sisters of Quiet Mercy, where those in need can live a life of solitude and reflection. This is Sister Francis. How may I bless you today?” 

“This is Alice Cooper,” Betty said, her tone instantly becoming snobby like her mom's. “A man named Johnny used to be a patient there and now volunteers.”

“Oh, yes, Miss Alice. You were friends with him during your stay. And that nice young man Samuel would come visit you both every night during visiting hours.”

Betty covered the speaker of the phone, and mouthed Snake? Jughead nodded his head. 

“Oh, yes, my boyfriend from high school.”

“Not just your boyfriend. When you checked out of here, you two were engaged and very much in love.”

Betty sat on the edge of the bed, and idly fiddled with the charm on her necklace. “How could I have forgotten,” she said. “It's just been so long since then.” She sighed and looked off to nothing for a moment before continuing. “Anyway I'm doing an article of Johnny, you know the man who volunteers there once a week, I was wondering if you could tell me how often he comes and what he does there.”

“Johnny is one of our favorite volunteers,” Francis replied. “Always on time, always so helpful. He was here last week as always to help me out in the library. Upstanding gentleman. Poor boy has overcome so much adversity in his life. Lost his father at a young age, had to fend for himself, all while fighting inner demons. Satan has always tried so hard to gets his claws in that boy, but Johnny was stronger. After a little trouble as a teen, Johnny turned his life over to the Lord. Riverdale should know what a good man he really is. I'm glad you're taking the time to write about him.” 

“So he was there last Friday morning?” Betty asked.

“Like always,” she replied.

“Okay thank you, Sister Francis,” Betty said. “If you think anything else, please call me at this number.”

“He has an alibi,” Betty said. 

“She’s lying,” Jughead said. “We saw the murder board. We know it was Johnny.”

She tucked the phone into the pocket of her coat, slipped on jeans, and pulled her hair back into a ponytail. “Maybe I was wrong.”

“You told me yourself that you were never wrong.”

She smiled at him, and picked up her shoes. She hesitated at the foot of the bed for a moment. “So my mom was engaged to Snake.”

“Yeah,” Jughead replied. “I’m not surprised. They were in love.”

“But they didn’t end up together,” Betty said. 

Her eyes darted from him to the empty hallway. He knew this was her anxiety flaring up. “Hey,” he said, laying his hands on her shoulders. “We’re not our parents. This is forever, you and me.” She signed and then nodded before he kissed her forehead.

They loaded everything onto the bike and drove to Betty's house. They went up to her room, and after settling in, got a text from Archie that he and Veronica would be over soon. Jughead changed into pajamas, but Betty stayed in her jeans and Serpent jacket. 

“I'm going to take my meds,” Betty said before kissing his cheek and leaving him in her bedroom. 

The house was silent so he could hear her take a glass out of the cabinet and set it on the counter. The backdoor opened and closed, and he waited for Archie and Veronica to call out, but he didn't hear his best friend. Instead he heard a glass shatter against the kitchen floor.

He vaulted off the bed and ran down the stairs. “Betty!” he yelled as he came into the empty kitchen. “Betty!” The shards of glass were littered across the floor, the pill bottle opened, knocked over, little blue pills scattered across the counter. His heart sank. She was gone.

Then the backdoor opened. Thank God. She was okay. 

But it wasn't Betty, but Archie and Veronica. “Hey, Jug, why the yelling?” Archie asked. 

“And why did I find Betty's sexy Serpent jacket on the back steps?” Veronica asked, holding up Betty’s Serpent jacket. 

“Because Johnny took her,” Jughead said.


	14. Snakes and Smoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Author’s note: Sorry this is kind of short. I’ve been dealing with a hurricane and my own raging insecurities and anxiety. Betty and I have a lot in common. Lol. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Author’s note: Sorry this is kind of short. I’ve been dealing with a hurricane and my own raging insecurities and anxiety. Betty and I have a lot in common. Lol. 

Coming awake, Betty sucked musty air, tinged with the flavor of earth, into her lungs. Her eyes flickered open to a darkened room. Her body ached, but she wasn’t sure why. Wasn’t sure where she was or how she’d gotten there. The last thing she remembered was going downstairs in her house while Jughead was upstairs. She had wanted to take her medicine a little early. The anxiety was back, making her heart race, her throat dry, and she wanted to abate it as much as she could. 

But one minute, she’d been opening her pill bottle when the backdoor opened. She had expected Archie and Veronica to walk in, but as she started the turn around, something struck her from behind, and the world went dark. She blinked when some sort of warm liquid dripped down her temple and into her eye. She tried to move, to wipe it away, but her arms jerked, unable to move because her wrists were bound. She tilted her face up. Slats of wood were overhead. The only source of light was the moonlight coming through a small window on her right. She must be in some sort of basement. 

In the silence, her labored breathing filled the air. Oh, God. Where was she and why was she tied up? Where was Jughead? 

“Jughead!” she called. “Juggie! Where are you?”

“Betty?” 

The voice was familiar and deep, but wasn't Jughead. “FP?” she asked. She felt movement behind her, someone taking her hand. She had to strain her neck, but she looked over her shoulder and could make out the shadow of Jughead's dad. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and there was a small cut on his cheek, but those were the only injuries she could see. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“I’m fine.”

“You’re bleeding,” he said. 

“You’ve got a black eye,” she said. “Where are we?”

“No idea. Last thing I know, I was in the common room of that halfway house Keller stashed me in. I was on the phone with Jughead, there was scuffle at the front door, someone pushed me to the floor, and then I woke up here.”

“I think we’re in some sort of basement,” Betty said. She felt the ground beneath her, sinking her fingers into wet earth, the rough fibers of the ropes around her wrists scratching against her skin. 

“Where’s Jug?” FP asked. 

“Hopefully still at my house. We were all going to stay together until Johnny was arrested, but I went downstairs to the kitchen alone. Then I woke up here with you.”

“I knew Johnny was crazy,” FP said. “But I had no idea he was capable of this.”

“He’s not doing this alone,” Betty said. “They had him at the station yesterday, handcuffed to the interrogation room table, but someone cut him free.”

“It’s got to be Hiram Lodge,” FP said. “I’ve always thought he was involved with this. He got rich too fast, right out of high school. He came from nothing like me. One day, he was my neighbor at Sunnyside Trailer Park, the next he bought out all of Michael James’s properties after his death.”

There was some detail she recalled, something that she knew she knew, but couldn’t grasp. So she thought for a moment. “The LLC who purchased everything. FAL LLC. L for Lodge. FA for Fred Andrews?”

“Yes,” FP said. “It's how Fred was able to start up how construction company. Fred wanted to squeal, even on me. Hiram bought his silence.”

It made sense, but it made her mad. “Why didn't you take a cut for keeping your mouth shut?”

“I did. Gave it to Fred for our company.”

“And then he screwed you out of it.”

“Don't blame him, Betty. Fred did what he had to. I was worse back then. Couldn't be trusted with anything. Lied, cheated, and stole. Fred knew I was trouble. If we'd stayed as partners, I would have ruined his business, ruined his livelihood that he used for his family. Fred did what he had to do.”

“Just like you, Mr. Jones. Jughead loves you. He’s proud of you. He knows that you’re a good man.” She wanted him to know, to hear it from her, just in case he never got the chance to hear it from Jughead. 

With his back against her, she could feel his body shake as he weeped. He sniffled, and then said, “I’m not. Jughead wants to see the good in me when everyone else sees trash. I am so goddamn proud of that boy. He’s going to be the one who gets out of this godforsaken town. Tell him to get out. Tell him to stay as far away from the Serpents as he can. The Serpents aren’t bad, but everyone thinks they are. If he stays as their leader, he’ll get beat down by this town. I want better for him. That’s why I worked so damn hard to keep him away from the Snakes. I want him to have a better life than me. Tell him--” His voice cut of on a sob. “In case I don’t make it to the other side of this, tell him I love him. Tell him for me, Betty. Promise me.” He reached out as much as the confines of his ropes allowed and clutched her fingers. 

“I promise, Mr. Jones.” 

As she held his hand and listened to him cry, it hit Betty that this could be the end for them both. Johnny could come back at any minute and kill them both. And what about Jughead? He could be next. She wouldn’t allow it, not for Jughead, not for FP, not for herself. She wasn’t going to let some crazy asshole steal her life away. She had so much to live for, so much still that she needed to do. She glanced down at her leg. Even though her jeans covered it, that scar she’d self inflicted would always be on her mind. Cutting herself seemed so stupid now when her life really was in danger. Why had she ever considered taking her own life? She had to get out of here, save FP and herself, and prevent any harm from coming to anyone else she cared about. 

Letting go of FP’s hand, she wiggled her wrists. The ropes were tight, but she could still move. She braced herself and yanked on the pole in the ground, trying to see how sturdy it was. 

“It’s a load bearing post,” FP said. “It’s not going to budge.”

“Then we have to get the ropes off.” She tugged again, the ropes digging into her skin, chaffing, cutting her there, but it didn’t matter. 

“How, Betty?” FP slumped forward, pulling her backwards a little. Their ropes must be interwoven. 

“Lean your back against mine. I’ll get my feet underneath myself, then you. We’ll use each other for leverage. Once we stand up, we can work ourselves free of the ropes.” FP did as Betty told him, and after a few attempts, she was up. FP followed. “Rub the ropes against the post. The wood is rough enough that it might fray them.” Again FP followed her directions. They rubbed the ropes until Betty felt the skin of her wrists becoming raw. 

But they both froze, when a door slammed overhead and lights flipped on, light filtering through the slats of the wood. Footsteps fell and FP grabbed for Betty’s hand again. A set of voices discussed something, followed by a moment of silence, and then the sound of something being knocked over. 

Something dripped onto Betty’s cheek. For a moment, she thought the wound on her head must have opened up again. The scent hit her then. “Gas,” she whispered to FP. “It’s gasoline.”

In unison, they started rubbing the ropes harder against the grain of the wood. Betty started yanking, panicking. She was breathing so hard that she started wheezing. What if she died here? What if she never got to live the life she’d dreamed of with him. He was everything and what if she never saw him again?

FP grabbed her hand, and whispered, “Breathe.” She tried to, but couldn’t suck in any air. “Betty.” FP’s voice was more forceful this time. “We’re going to get out of this. You’re going to see Jughead again.” 

She nodded. She needed to stay calm, to think. “Pull with me,” she said. “Let’s do it at the same time. I think we’ve compromised the ropes enough. One. . . two . . . three.” They both yanked at the same time and the ropes fell away. 

Betty spun around as FP’s arms went around her. They hugged each other briefly before turning towards the window to their right. FP hoisted her up so that she could reach the window. “The lock is jammed,” Betty said after several attempts of opening it. “I need something to break the glass.”

FP let her down and they looked around the best they could in the darkness for something solid, but all they found was the muddy dirty floor. As Betty scrambled around, a new scent hit her. “Is that smoke?” she asked. She looked up and answered her own question when she saw smoke sifting through the slats in the wooden floor overhead. 

“Shit,” FP said. He lifted her up again. “Get that window opened.”

She clawed the lock again, pulled and pried until her her nails broke, but after a struggle, she got it opened, and with FP’s help, scrambled out. Once she was outside, she reached back into the window and pulled FP out. They were in some sort of wooded area, probably near Sweetwater River or Evergreen Forest. 

FP grabbed her hand, and they took off running away from the cabin they'd climbed out of. She paused briefly to look back. It wasn't Michael James's cabin like she assumed. This one was rundown, the roof caving in. And currently on fire. Flames billowed out of the hole in the roof, burst through the broken windows. Even a hundred or so feet away, heat radiated off the cabin.

“Where are we?” Betty asked FP. “Do you recognize anything?”

“Not really, but I think we're by Sweetwater, near the edge of Southside.” He tugged on her wrist. “We need to get out of here.”

Leaving the burning cabin behind them, they dashed through the pitch black woods, dodging trees and downed branches. After about a mile, FP had to stop to catch his breath. 

“I don't think anyone followed us,” Betty said. She leaned against a tree trunk and sucked air into her tight lungs. 

“Do you have a phone on you?” FP asked.

Betty checked her back pockets. “No. I left it upstairs.” Jughead must be going crazy with worry for her. She needed to get back to him. She needed to make sure he was okay, too. Now that they had stopped, she shivered in the brisk night air. They had taken her jackete. They'd probably left it behind to mock Jughead that they'd taken his girlfriend. 

“I think if we head due east,” FP said, pointing to his right. “That we'll find our way to the Southside.”

“Okay,” Betty said. 

They went in that direction, trudging along for over an hour. Then Betty saw a light in the distance. “Look!” she exclaimed. “Maybe they have a phone.”

They started running again, and didn't stop until they came to a clearing with a cabin. But it wasn't any cabin.

“This is Michael James place,” Betty said.

“But it burned down,” FP said. 

“And then someone rebuilt it. Come on. I know they have power there. We can call Jughead.”  
As they rounded the treeline, they saw the police cruiser at the same time. FP’s arm shot out, just like when she was little and her mom had to slam on the breaks when she was driving their station wagon. FP pushed Betty behind himself, reminding of how protective Jughead could be. Jughead. She had find her way through the darkness and get back to him.

“Keller?” FP said. FP pulled her into the shelter of a patch of bushes. “What the hell is he doing here?”

“You told Jughead to trust him, but do you?”

“I did,” he replied. “He put me in that half-way house to protect me. I want to believe Keller. He’s always been self-serving, but has always stuck up for us, too. But right before I was taken, I was just hanging up the phone with Jughead, and overheard a scuffle at the front of the building. I heard someone say Keller’s name, but then everything went black.”

“Was Keller there?”

“No, at least I don’t think. I heard a fight, Keller’s name, and next thing I know, I woke up in that basement with you.” 

 

The front door to the cabin swung open and FP pulled Betty deeper into the cover of the bushes, hiding them from view. Sheriff Keller stepped onto the porch, but turned back to the cabin, talking to someone who was coming out behind him. 

“Hiram Lodge,” Betty whispered when he came more clearly into view. He was dressed in a silvery blue suit, his black hair slicked back from his face. He adjusted his cufflinks as he came up even with Sheriff Keller. They talked a little, and then got into Keller’s cop car and drove away. 

They waited a moment more before making their way up to the porch. Betty tried the front door, but it was locked. She pulled out a bobby pin from her hair and within seconds, the knob twisted and they were inside. 

“I see why Jughead loves you so much,” FP said as he stepped around her so that he was in front. 

“Why do you think that Keller and Hiram were here?” Betty asked. 

“I don’t know. Maybe they were meeting out here so no one saw them. Maybe they were meeting Johnny.”

“Do you really think Sheriff Keller aided and abetted Fred’s killer?” Betty asked. 

“Not Keller,” FP said. “He’s too much of a chickenshit to do something that against the law again. But Hiram, I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“I wouldn’t either,” Betty said. FP followed her into the kitchen, where she picked up the phone and dialed Jughead’s number. She waited as the phone rang, but then something clicked. She wasn’t just hearing the ringing or her end, but she was hearing Jughead’s ringtone. 

FP heard it, too. He stepped out of the kitchen and into the living room, and neared the closet where the ringtone was coming from. FP ripped open the door, and there was Jughead, tied up and gagged on the floor of the closet.


	15. Surprise

Jughead’s ears rang. In the distance, someone called his name, but it was like he was hearing it from underwater. He knew he needed to wake up, but he couldn’t make himself move. His body was stiff, reminding him of all the times he’d slept on the floor wherever he could find a safe place, anywhere to escape the shit storm that was his family life. 

He heard his name again. It sounded like Betty. Betty! She was still missing. He’d run after her, but her driveway and the street in front of her house was empty. He’d taken off on his motorcycle without even telling Archie where he was going. He’d ended up in front of the Whyte Wrym. He was about to go in, but when he heard someone come up behind him, he was knocked out before he could turn around. 

Trying to swim through the thickening waters of unconsciousness, Jughead heard his name again. It was definitely Betty. Betty, the world's most perfect girlfriend. His eyes flew open, and she was there, alive in the flesh right in front of him. She reached behind his back and loosened the ties around his wrists. He grabbed her face, gently touching the side of her head, his fingers brushing against the dried blood there. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“Are you?”

When he nodded, she collapsed into him, his arms going tight around her, and they held each other while they cried. After a moment, Betty pulled back, and he got a glimpse of FP over her shoulder. One of FP’s eyes was black and swollen shut, but his dad was here. 

“Dad?” Jughead asked, afraid this wasn’t real. 

FP hauled him to his feet and enveloped him in a hug. FP kissed his son on the top of his crown beanie, and then he pulled back. “I love you, Jug, and I’m so proud of you.”

Everything inside Jughead softened. Every disappointment melted away as his eyes misted over with tears. “I love you, too, Dad,” he replied. 

He didn’t want to take away from this moment, but he had to figure out why they all had just been kidnapped. Jughead stepped back and looked around. “Are we in Michael’s James’s cabin? Were you here the whole time?”

“We were in another cabin,”Betty said. 

“Somewhere near the border of the Southside,” FP said. “We’re not really sure. Once they lit the place on fire, we just ran.”

“They tried to burn you alive?” Jughead asked. He clutched at Betty, looked her over again to make sure she was really okay.

“I’m okay, Juggie, I promise.”

Everything inside him went red, and he understood how and why Betty had choked Hirman. He would happily snap Johnny’s neck. That crazy asshole had almost killed the love of his life. “This isn’t okay,” he said. He marched to the entryway and ripped open the front door. “I’m going to find that son of a bitch , Johnny, and kill him.”

“Jug,” FP said, coming to his son and grabbing his arm. FP wrapped his hand around the back of Jughead’s neck, forcing him to look at him. “No, son, have a cool head. We’ll call the police.” 

Jughead glared at FP. “And what are they going to do, Dad? Fuck everything up? Again? No! Betty is at risk. You’re at risk. I’m not willing to gamble with either of your lives.”

“I need to keep you safe, too,” Betty said, stepping in front of FP, taking his place. She took his face in her hands. “We need to find some place safe, where we can think, calm down, and figure out our next move.” 

“I can’t rest,” Jughead said. He pulled back. “Not now. Not when that psycho is out there, slowly bumping each of us off. I’m not going to let that happen.”

“What do you think you’re going to do, Jug?” FP stepped in front of his son again. “You can’t go out there alone, half-cocked, blinded by rage.”

“We need to make a plan,” Betty said. 

She was right next to FP, taking Jughead’s hand. He looked down at their interwoven fingers. The anger started to abate, and the world went from red to a softened pink as he focused on Betty. She was right. They needed to take caution. If they could figure out who was helping Johnny and why Johnny had a vendetta against them all, they might be able to save everyone. 

“Okay,” he said, nodding. “Where can we go?”

FP scratched the scruff on his chin. “I know a place. We should get everyone else there, too. I’ll call Mary, Snake, Alice, and the other kids.”

“Not my mom,” Betty said. “She’s safe.”

“Is she?” FP questioned. “What if Johnny has someone watching here and Polly and they don’t even know it. Separated, we’re easy to pick off. Together we’ll be harder to get. There’s strength in numbers.”

“I’ll call her,” Betty said. “Where should I tell her to go?”

“The Serpents have a house, deep in the heart of Southside. It’s a place where the Snakes can hide out when they need a little trouble to blow over.”

“I’m going to call my mom and get her back,” Betty said. 

She stepped into the hallway, and Jughead paused to listen for her mom to answer. After he heard Alice’s voice, he breathed a sigh of relief. He needed to make sure everyone else was safe, too, and when they were all together at the Serpents’ house, he’d feel a lot better. Betty disappeared from sight for a moment as she paced to the end of the hall. He’d be a lot happier once he could get his hands on his girlfriend, just to convince himself that she was really real, really safe. 

“Should we call Keller?” Jughead asked. Since his dad trusted the idiot sheriff, he would too. 

“No! We saw Keller and Hiram Lodge here at the cabin,” Betty said, rejoining them. “They are the ones who took you.” 

“No,” Jug said. “It wasn’t them.”

“How do you know?” Betty asked. “I thought you said they knocked you out.”

“I came to for a few minutes when I was tied up in the backseat. Everything was a little foggy, but I could make out one of them was definitely Johnny. The other person, I didn’t recognize. All I saw was the back of his head. He had a hat on, but his neck was covered in pockmarks. I didn’t know him, but it wasn’t Keller or Hiram.”

“But they were here,” Betty said. “We saw them leaving. They must be involved somehow. Why else would they be here.”

Jughead started to respond, but his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket. “It’s Keller,” he said and answered. 

“Jughead!” Keller yelled. “Where are you? Where’s your dad and Betty? We’ve been looking everywhere for you all.”

“I’m not telling you,” he replied. 

FP grabbed the phone. “Keller, what the hell is going on?” 

“FP, is that you? Thank god you’re okay! I know that Johnny is responsible for this, but he’s got someone working with him. Who I don’t know yet. I had to release Snake from jail. He’s with Eric now, but I’m not sure how safe they are.” 

“Do your fucking job, Keller and find Johnny and the asshole trying to kill us all. I’m not going to put my kids at risk anymore,” FP said. 

FP was talking about Jughead and Betty. FP Jones, the coldhearted, feared leader of the South Side Serpents, had accepted a cheerleader and all around good girl into his family. 

“I’ve got the whole force on this,” Keller said. “Lay low. Stay safe. I’ll take care of everything. I won’t let you down this time.”

“10-4,” FP said and hung up.

“Do you trust him now?” Betty asked FP. 

“No,” he said, with a gruff laugh. “I know you’re smart and want justice, but I’m not risking you. I just want to keep the two if you safe.”

“But we’re not safe,” Betty said. “All three of us were taken. FP, you and I were almost burned alive.”

“We’ll be safe in the Serpents safehouse. I’ll get all the Snakes there to protect us,” FP said. 

“I can make some calls,” Jughead said. 

He started to dial, but FP stopped him. “No,” FP said. “I know you mean well and filled in for me while I was gone, but I don’t want this life for you.”

“I think I’ve done a pretty good job,” Jughead said, feeling defensive. 

“That’s not what I meant, son,” FP said. “I know you're smart and resourceful, and I don’t doubt your skills as a leader. I just don’t want you mixed up in this anymore.”

Jughead sighed, but he nodded. He liked how important the Serpents made him feel, but FP was right. Being an outlaw and a social pariah wasn’t what he wanted, not for himself, not for Betty. He wanted better for them both. 

“We gotta get out of here,” Betty said. 

“How?” Jughead asked. 

“I saw a truck parked on the side of the house,” Betty said. “We’ll use that.”

They went outside, and when the old truck wouldn’t start, she told FP and Jughead to hang tight in the cab of the truck while she lifted the hood and looked inside. 

“I see why you love her,” FP said to Jughead. “She’s amazing.”

“She’s everything.”

“And she saved or asses tonight.”

“I have a feeling she’s going to save me for the rest of my life,” Jughead said. 

“That’s what a good woman does.”

The engine roared to life, and Betty opened Jughead’s door, and waited for him to scoot over. She got behind the wheel and put the truck into gear. She followed FP’s directions to the safe house, and within ten minutes they were parked out front of whitewashed, rundown one story. The house was secluded at the end of the dirt lane, not another place for a mile. FP pulled a key from beneath the welcome mat and let them inside. The place was dusty and little ragged, but clean. FP bolted the front door back and peaked out the blinds. 

“The others and the Serpents will be here soon. I’ll keep watch. You two should snag the master bedroom while you can. Get cleaned up, take a rest. We’re safe now.”

Jughead followed Betty into the bedroom, locking the door behind them. He went with Betty into the bathroom. When she reached for the shower knob, he placed his hand over hers. The shower kicked on, the pipes clanging as the hot water rushed through. 

She stepped into the shower and he followed her, closing the curtain behind them. He took the soap off the niche and rubbing his hands together until he worked up a lather. He washed her, starting at her neck and then moving down her arms and over her stomach. She whimpered when he made only a brief pass over the mound of her sex. As always, he wanted her, but they both needed to get cleaned up first. She took his lead and leaned her head under the spray to wash her hair. They both took turns under the water, letting it rinse the suds off their bodies. Then he helped her out and handed her a towel. She dried off, but remained naked. He did the same. 

Her back was to him as she hung the towel back on the rack. He brushed her hair aside and pressed his lips against the back of her neck. Leaning down, he started at the small of her back, brushing his mouth up the dip in her spine, touching every vertebrae, taking his time. He fingers curled gently around her neck, pressing into her throat as he angled her head to the side so his tongue could sweep across her skin. 

“I thought I lost you,” Jughead said, his voice quaking. “I thought you were gone.”

His arm surrounded her waist as he pulled her body against hers. “I’m okay, Jug. I’m safe. So are you. Until this thing is over, we’re not leaving each other’s sides. I’m not losing sight of you ever again.”

“I thought I lost you,” Jughead whispered into her hair. “I thought you were gone.”

“I’m right here, Jug,” she said as she turned around in his arms so she could face him. “I’m never leaving you again.” She went up on her hip toes and kissed him gently on the lips. 

But he didn’t want gentleness now. He needed to be reminded that they were both still breathing, still alive. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her out of the bathroom and into the small, nearly empty bedroom. He set her on the mattress on the floor. There was only a bottom sheet and thin quilt. Betty scooted back until she lay across the bed. She reached up for him and pulled him down onto the bed with her. He settled between her legs. The hard tip of him touched her gently and she was already wet, so with one soft, swift thrust he was inside her. 

He looked down at her, and her eyes were wide open, looking directly into his. Her body moved with his. And they were alive, brimming with feeling, with love. He was hers, and she was his. Forever. There wasn’t a crazy murderer after them. He wasn’t caught between Riverdale and the Southside. She wasn’t struggling with her darkness. They were just two people in love. And that was all that mattered. 

After, they lay, snuggled together, simply enjoying the moment, being close. 

“We should probably see if they others are here,” Jughead said. 

Betty checked her phone and read a text from her mom. “Alice and Polly got there ten minutes ago.” She pulled on her t-shirt. “Oh, god, do you think they heard us having sex?” 

Jughead laughed. “Nah, we were quiet.”

They finished getting dressed and Jughead took her hand as they left the bedroom. As they walked down the hall, Jughead thought to himself that for a house that was supposed to be full of at least ten people, it was awfully quiet. Something was off. Betty must have felt it, too because she tugged on his hand and picked up the pace. 

When they came into the living room, they stopped short when the saw Alice Cooper run into Snake’s arms and kiss him deeply. For a moment, Jughead thought that the two former lovers were so caught up in the embrace because they hadn’t seen each other in so long, but when they came around the corner, the entire room and the whole scene came into view. 

FP, Mary, Hiram, Keller, and Eric were all kneeling on the ground, and Johnny had a gun pointed on them. Betty’s hand tightened around Jughead’s and he pushed her behind him a little to shield her. 

They both jumped when the kitchen door swung open, and man walked into the living room. He was wiping his bloody hands on a white dishtowel. But the blood wasn’t the most disturbing thing about him. His hair was missing in patches. His face was red, skin raw and wrinkled, like it had melted off. Like he’d been in a fire. 

“Well, it’s about time you two finished fucking each other’s brains out while your families suffered,” he said, coming closer to them. 

“Who are you?” Betty asked. 

“Michael James,” he replied. “Surprise.”


	16. The Light of the Southside

Gentle Readers, sorry this literally took a thousand years to update. I, in fact, did not die, but was hit by a hurricane, had to move, had a battle with my mental health, and fell in love with a captain in the air force. All while being a single mother, so I just couldn’t find the strength to write, even though it is something I love. But I did it. I finished the thing. Riverdale season 2 is rocking my world. I love all of you, and as always thank you for reading and making my life a little brighter with every comment. Hugs and kisses to all!

Johnny went back through the kitchen door, and a moment later, came in with Archie and Veronica. Both were tied up and gagged, Veronica’s brown eyes wide with fear, streaming tears. Johnny shoved Veronica and Archie to the ground. He stood up and tossed a gun to Michael James. 

“Here you go, Dad,” he said. 

“Dad?” Betty asked. And then it all fell into place. The reason Johnny had been so attached to the Whyte Wyrm, the childhood photos in his trailer, all taken in the bar. And now he had a motive. 

“Yeah, Dad--the man your families tried to murder and left for dead,” Johnny said. He pointed his gun toward Betty and Jughead. “Get on your knees.”

Betty glanced around. Johnny and Michael James were outnumbered, but they had the guns. Guns would always trump numbers. Maybe if they all worked together, they could overthrow their captors. But how? If anyone of them tried to make a move, Johnny or Michael would shoot them. But they were going to die either way. The air rushed from her lungs, her chest tightening, throat closing. No. No. Betty wouldn’t allow. There had to be a way out. She looked across the room and made eye contact with FP. He must have been able to sense what she was thinking because he nodded his head, and she knew what she needed to do. FP pulled against his ropes and Betty started to speak.

“They were just kids,” Betty said. Both Johnny and Michael turned to her. “They didn’t mean it.”

“They didn’t mean to try turn my brains to mush and burn me alive?” Michael James asked. “They were evil.” He turned away from her, gun pointed in Alice’s head. Betty had to draw his attention away. 

“You’re the piece of shit who was selling drugs to kids!” Betty said. 

“I was a businessman,” Michael said. “I saw a point of sale that needed someone to facilitate it, and that is what I did. Do you know how expensive it is have a son with such special needs?”

“Actually, I do!” Alice chimed in. Snake still had his arms around her. “It doesn’t make it okay to sell drugs to children.”

As Alice reprimanded Michael James, Betty glanced to FP who had managed to get his hands free. Then Betty felt Jughead’s hand on her shoulder, reassuring her that he was going to help FP take down Johnny and Michael James. For a moment, she wanted to stop them both. She couldn’t lose either of them, but if they didn’t do something, they all could die here tonight. 

From there, everything went in fast forward. FP and Jughead jumped to their feet in unison, one lunging for Johnny, the other for Michael James. After a moment, Hiram and Snake were up, too. Their hands were still bound, but they helped as much as this could. As FP and Michael James wrestled, Michael’s gun fell to the floor. 

Jughead leapt for it at the same time Johnny did. They scuffled for a moment, the gun lost beneath them. With the distraction, Snake got to his feet and took down Michael. 

Then Johnny’s gun went off.

Betty screamed as Jughead fell back, leaving Johnny still on the ground, gun in his hand. Snake had Michael by the neck, Michael’s gun on the floor, Betty scrambled for it, grabbing it up. The barrel of the gun was heavy in her hand as she squeezed the trigger tight. Her eyes closed as the butt of the gun kicked back, slamming in the the fleshy part of her palm. When she looked again, Johnny was on the ground, blood spreading out from the center of his chest, staining his white shirt red. His body went limp as he feel back.

She dropped her her knees next to Jughead. His hand was clutched the top of his thigh where he’d been shot. Just a flesh wound. The bullet only grazed him. He would be okay. They all would. The danger was gone. They survived. 

Sheriff Keller and his deputies arrived shortly after. Johnny’s body was zipped into a body bag and they took Michael away in a police car. After everyone was questioned and Jughead’s leg was patched up, Betty and Jughead slipped out as Alice and Snake openingly kissed. 

Betty drove the truck they’d taken there and they both went right to Sunnyside Trailer Park, went inside, and locked the doors behind them. Without a word, they stepped into the shower, washed, and then held each other until the water ran cold. They climbed into the bed, Jughead pulling up the covers around them. Wanting to be reminded of the life the still had, she reached for him, but before her fist could close around him, her eyes fluttered closed and she sank into slumber.

She woke to Jughead gently rolling her onto her back, nudged her legs apart. He sank into her, his body, his heart, his soul joining with hers. They moved together. It didn’t last long this time, and it didn’t have to. They were alive and together, and that was all that mattered. After they both came, Jughead pulled out of her, layed on his back and brought her against him, her arm going across his chest as he tucked her head beneath his chin. 

They lay together, their breathing settling, their bodies bodies sated and happy, enjoying being close, being out of danger. 

“I love you, Jughead Jones,” Betty said.

“I love you, too, Betty Cooper.”

Her mother would continue to be overbearing, they were still separated by the border of the Northside and Southside, her demons would always be there, waiting to surface, but for now they had peace. For now they were happy. They would forever be happy, just the two of them, the Romeo and Juliet of Riverdale, expect this time they would live happily ever after. 

Through the small window in his bedroom, the clouds had cleared and the sun’s rays peeked over the horizon. “Maybe it’s not to dark on the Southside,” Betty said as she angled herself up to kiss his check before settling back into his arms.


End file.
